


One Speed is All I Know

by Skalidra



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Bisexuality, Casual Sex, First Time, Frottage, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Making Out, Marks, Morning After, Morning Sex, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Slow Build, Superpower Sex, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:38:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just another night in Star City when Barry shows up in the middle of one of Roy's patrols, ruining hours worth of work for the chance to talk. He's looking for a favor. Turns out Barry's powers have an interesting side effect. When he gets aroused he vibrates, and with a civilian girlfriend, that's a problem. Practice makes perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, this is a little two-part piece I wrote a while back. A foray into the shared Arrow/Flash universe, because plot points and silliness, and lots of attractive actors. This has some background plot to it, mostly just references to ground it, but otherwise it's a PWP. This is part one, and part two will go up Monday!
> 
> Enjoy!

"Roy, hey!"

" _Jesus_  Christ!"

I nearly put an arrow in the other man. Luckily, probably, he's moving in a flash of yellow lightning and catching the arrow to tuck it back in my quiver before I can find any real words to say. Pausing in the middle of course, just to prove that he's caught the arrow.

He pats me on the shoulder, grinning, and I try really hard not to smack him across the face with my bow. "Good to see you too, buddy." He's bright, and cheerful, and that really has no place on this particular Star City rooftop.

"Flash," I grit out through my teeth, "I'm busy. Surveillance."

"Oh, those guys?" He leans sideways, peering over the rooftop and then giving another bright grin. "Got it. Be right back."

"Wait, don't—" And he's gone. Oh hell. Oliver's gonna kill me. Sighing, I raise my hand to my ear and push the earpiece. "Barry's here."

Across the open line I hear two nearly identical aggravated huffs of breath — Diggles and Oliver — and one squeak of excitement — definitely Felicity — before the super-speed genius,  _idiot_ is back in front of me. It's hard to be mad at him when he's got that excited grin and the bright green eyes, and about the most I can bring up is a dull irritation.

"All done," he announces, hands on his hips and head tilted to one side. "Ready for the nearest ride to the police station! Can we get something to eat? Long run from Central."

Well, there goes the last hour of my time down the drain.

"You know," I comment, "we didn't actually  _want_ them arrested just yet." In my ear, I can hear Diggle sigh. I can picture his eye roll, and that supremely frustrated look Oliver gets. The one with the pinched lips and the twitchy hands where he's angry, but knows there's no point in saying anything. Or he knows you're right. Thea used to call it the 'bitch face.'

Barry has the decency to look sheepish, wincing and raising his right hand to rub over the back of his neck. "I can go down and let them back out?" he offers, with a shrug and an apologetic smile. "That seems kinda pointless though; I mean I  _can_  but obviously now they know something's going on and if I let them out then— I should really just ask first next time shouldn't I?"

"Yeah," I agree, shaking my head and flicking my eyes towards the sky in exasperation. "Probably. So? What do you want?"

" _Pizza_ ," Barry answers instantly. "I am so hungry; it was like twenty minutes but that's a  _long_ time. Do you want any? I'm gonna grab some." He's gone, and I weather the rush of wind in my face.

" _Alright,"_ Diggle says over the coms,  _"I'm done for the night. See you guys in the morning."_

Oliver follows it up with, " _I— Just deal with whatever he wants, Roy. I'm heading back to Verdant. Felicity, make the call to the police."_

" _Will do,"_ she answers. " _Say hi to Barry from me, Roy!"_

Like he's being summoned by his name, Barry snaps back into view in front of me, buffeting my face with another rush of air and a stack of three pizza boxes in his hands. Not the first time I've seen him just appear with food, and also not the only time I've wondered who was expecting pizzas and didn't get them, or what store he stole them from. You can't make things cook faster by running fast, it doesn't work like that. Someone, somewhere, was looking forward to eating the pizzas he just stole.

"Sure," I say, and then aim, "Felicity says hi," at the nearly bouncing speedster in front of me.

His face lights up a little more, and he rocks up onto his toes. "I'll stop by to see her; promise."

"He'll stop by," I relay, and she makes another of those squeaky, excited noises. I switch off the earpiece, and brace my hand on my hip. Barry's not eating yet, which is a little weird, but he definitely looks like he's all but vibrating with the same excitement as Felicity. "What do you want?" I repeat.

"What, a guy can't run across half a country to hang out with a friend?" I raise an eyebrow, and he shrugs and just grins a little wider. "Okay, so I have questions, and a favor to ask. Can we talk somewhere that isn't a random rooftop? With, you know, chairs or a couch or something?"

"I've got an apartment—" I start, and he almost instantly cuts me off.

"Great! Where is it?"

I pause, sigh, and rattle off the address. Then he's running off again, and I scrub my free left hand over my face. I really wasn't prepared to deal with this tonight. I thought I was going to spend at least another couple hours on the roof watching these guys, chatting with Felicity and Diggle and slowly driving Oliver nuts. I was looking forward to it in a weird way. Then again, hot food and some real sleep sounds good.

I sleep decent these days, actually. Now that I'm not crashing on a glorified air mattress behind a bank of computers that I swear Felicity  _never leaves_. I'm earning enough working for Thea, at Verdant, and Glade apartments are dirt cheap. Especially now, after the Reckoning, and Deathstroke, and Brick. I've got a decent bed and everything, and there's less risk of someone randomly running in and yelling at me to wake up.

Less.

I head for the edge of the rooftop, to climb down and start off on my way to my apartment, and then there's a rush of air, a wrenching sensation, and a couple seconds of sensory input that makes  _no_   _sense_ , and I'm standing in the middle of my apartment. Barry is standing in front of me, grinning again, and the sound that leaves my throat is something like a shocked yelp that I strangle back as I recoil and yank my head around to take in the whole room and scan for threats.

The door is closed and locked, the blinds over my windows are shut, and apart from Barry the room is empty.

"Pretty cool, huh?" he says, bursting with pride and with both hands back on his hips.

I shut my eyes and regulate my breathing for a few seconds to calm down, and then tell him,"I can walk."

"Well, yeah, obviously, but you'd take  _forever_. Pizza?"

I think about arguing for a second, but then just shake my head and decide to give it up. "What toppings?" I ask instead, taking another look to make really sure that the blinds on my three long windows are fully closed before moving to set my bow down against the wooden shelving that separates the 'living room' section of my home from the 'bedroom' part, on the bedroom side, and start shedding the weapons off my suit.

"Uh…" There's a flash of lightning. "Looks like standard pepperoni, barbeque chicken, and like, jalapenos, sausage, and mushrooms?" Yeah. The Flash, Central and Star City's resident pizza thief.

"Sure. I'll have some."

I hear the rattle and creak of the springs in my old couch as Barry collapses down into it, and I think he was expecting to bounce or something because he makes a little noise that sounds offended. I roll my eyes, and tug the hood back off of my head before I raise both hands to undo my belt and drop it in the pile of my weapons. After that it's straight to pulling the zipper that starts on the front of my neck down, and peeling the jacket back off my shoulders and off each of my arms.

I've got a black tanktop underneath it — because that thing is uncomfortable after the first hour or so; plus the idea of someone being able to half undress me by just yanking a zipper down isn't fun to think about — but it fits close and comfortable, and the leather pants are a lot less uncomfortable than the jacket so I just leave them on. Also, the pants don't try and overheat and kill me, so there's that.

Plus, my apartment it might be, and Barry's too much of a giant excited puppy to feel real threatened by, but I don't really want to wander around in boxers around him. We're not that close.

Barry's watching me when I turn around, a slice of what I think is the jalapeno-mix pizza in his right hand — both his hands are bare, the gloves slung over the arm of my couch — and his cowl pulled back to rest on his neck. I head over, and he shifts sideways on the couch to give me space to sit down a lot more cautiously than he did. My couch is alright, but it's not bouncy and there's definitely at least one spot near the side he's sitting on where a spring is permanently pushed out. Not through the fabric or cushion, but it's not comfortable and it's a serious, literal, pain in the ass if you sit down and aren't expecting it.

"Got a preference?" I ask, idly rolling my shoulders to work out lingering stiffness.

"What?" He sounds kind of alarmed. I look over, and he's still watching me but he's got a bit of a confused look.

"Pizza. Preference?"

" _Oh_ , yeah, no. Go ahead, I'll eat whatever." I guess when you've gotta eat that much, it doesn't pay to be picky.

I take a slice of the pepperoni, leaning back into the couch and looking over at him. I chew and swallow a first bite before commenting, "So, you said you had questions and a favor. You want to eat first, or…?"

He flushes just a little bit, which is… kinda weird, before nodding and flashing one of those sheepish smiles. "Yeah, if you don't mind?" I shake my head. "Cool."

I let myself relax, finishing off four slices of the pizza while I watch Barry totally demolish the other two and the half I leave over. I kinda thought it would be gross to watch anyone eat that fast, but mostly it's just a bit blurred from the speed and otherwise totally normal.

Never thought I was going to say that it's normal to be sitting on the couch in my apartment in half of a vigilante costume, with a guy dressed head to toe in what looks like red leather that can move faster than jets at the drop of a hat. I thought my life had hit maximum weirdness when I was jacked up on Mirakuru, or when Slade's army mostly took apart the city. But now, with all of these 'metahumans' popping up in Central City?

Life's going to get a whole lot weirder.

Barry dusts his hands off and flips the last pizza box closed, leaning back with not even a trace of the normal 'stuffed' look people get when they're really full. How much can he actually eat? How much does he  _have_  to? I know I've heard Felicity talking and there's something about his metabolism making him need to eat a lot more than a normal human, but it was mostly science-babble and honestly I tuned out. Nod and agree is pretty much par for the course.

"Alright," he starts, turning his head to look at me. "So, recently, I picked up this girlfriend. Or she picked me up, I'm not real sure about that."

I snort, and get to my feet, shaking my head again. "Whatever the questions are, you're asking the wrong person," I tell him bluntly, leaning over to pick up the stack of pizza boxes and carry it over towards the tiny corner that could hesitantly be labeled a 'kitchen.' It's got the trash, anyway, and a stove and refrigerator. I brought in the microwave. "My last relationship was with Oliver's sister, and I fucked it up. If you want relationship advice you should ask Diggle."

"Actually," there's an edge to his voice that sounds embarrassed, "I'm not asking for advice." I struggle a bit, the boxes not quite fitting into the trash, and suddenly Barry's next to me, crouching down and pulling the bag out of the can to stretch it open wide enough.

"Then what? Why  _me_ , anyway? You've gotta have people in your life it would be way more normal to talk to. I'm half a country away, and we've barely even talked before." He ties the bag shut, and I duck down to grab the roll of bags and snag another, fitting it into the trash.

"Because I'm pretty sure you're not going to laugh at me," he admits, setting the trash bag aside and leaning against the door of the refrigerator. "Caitlyn would be way too embarrassed, Cisco wouldn't stop laughing for  _weeks_ , and Dr. Wells might actually be helpful but I just  _can't_ talk to him about this." He ticks the three people off on his fingers, and then gives an exaggerated shudder and a wince.

"Just so you know, you sound like you're having problems getting it up."

He flushes, nearly red enough to match his costume, and stutters out a protesting, "N-No! That's not— I can get it up just  _fine_." I roll my eyes and give him a look that's supposed to ask him what the hell he wants from me, and he seems to get it. "Okay, so it's  _sorta_ like that. I get—" He cuts off, and restarts, "Things start happening between me and her and I… I sorta lose control of my powers and start vibrating."

I blink. Stare. Blink again. "You  _what?_ "

Barry raises his hand to the back of his neck, still flushed red. "I vibrate." I keep staring at him, and he raises his other hand and holds it out. "Like this." There's this blur to his hand, which after a second I realize is from him just moving it back and forth slightly, but way faster than I can track. "But totally out of my control, and it's everything. It's uh… bad, and I really don't know what to do about it. I mean, it doesn't happen when it's just  _me_ , so I don't know what's going on, but I've gotta fix this. I really like her, and she's kinda aggressive and really wants  _me_ , but I can't really do anything while this keeps happening."

That's…

Okay, and there goes my weird level up another notch. Things about superspeed I didn't ever think about and maybe never wanted to know. Maybe. It's kinda an interesting thought. I wonder what that feels like?

"I still don't think I'm the right person. I mean, what kinda answer do you want? I don't know anything about your powers." I didn't think it was possible for him to get much redder, but he does.

"Yeah, okay, weirder to ask than I thought…" He meets my eyes, swallows hard, and then says something. Whatever it is I have  _no_ idea, because it's a rush of syllables that are definitely words, but are way too fast for me to decode and understand them. He seems to wait for an answer, and I tilt my head a bit to the left.

"One more time in English?"

He looks surprised, but then nods and takes in a deep breath. Slowly, carefully saying each word, he asks, "Will you let me practice sex with you so I can figure this out?"

Oh.  _Oh_.

I swallow, stare at him for a second, and then the question  _really_  hits me.

I drop my gaze, following the lines of his costume where it presses and clings tightly to his form. I  _really_ hadn't looked at Barry like that before. I mean, he was always kinda running around, doing his own thing, or interacting with Felicity or Oliver. Diggle and me were pretty sidelined — even though Barry  _did_  make that comment about liking my outfit — and I was really more focused on trying to decide if I should think of Barry as a threat or not. His playful, if kinda arrogant, attitude aside he was something I didn't understand at all. Superspeed. It took me a while to decide that he wasn't going to be a problem.

Well, he  _is_ pretty good looking. Kinda geeky, tall and pretty thin, and he hasn't got Oliver's kind of muscle or mine, but he's definitely pretty defined under the suit. It could be interesting, and it's not like he's asking for anything more than sex. No strings attached, right?

I've got no problem with guys. Before Thea I slept with a few of them, casual things that nobody wanted to go any farther than that. I've experimented enough to know I can enjoy myself and be attracted to guys. Not as much as women, usually, but it's still fun. I haven't pinpointed a 'type' that I've got in men, but I'm pretty sure when that suit comes off I'll be really interested in Barry, and now that he's pointed it out and I've actually looked, I'm definitely at least surface-attracted.

At worst, things get kinda awkward between us and we just don't really talk. It's not like we were talking before; it's not like we were really  _friends_  so much as friendly strangers. Not much to lose, and alright, honestly, I could use some good sex, it's been awhile since I had any kind of spare time for it. Since Thea, actually, and obviously I'm not bringing  _that_  up to anybody in the team. That would just be  _asking_  for it.

Barry's fidgeting when my gaze gets back to his face, and he looks embarrassed and pretty worried. When I meet his eyes it's like the floodgates suddenly open. "You can totally say no and I will go right now, it's just a question and it's a really  _stupid_  request, and it's my problem not yours. I can figure it out on my own or find someone else, or just ask Dr. Wells because he'll  _probably_ at least have some ideas. This just seemed easiest, and I didn't mean to offend you, promise. I—"

"Sure," I answer, just to cut him off. Is babbling something anyone with superspeed would do, or is that just a Barry thing?

He blinks, looking shocked. "What?"

"Sure," I repeat. "You're good looking, and I haven't gotten laid in a while, so sure. Why not? You act like I'm going to turn down a 'friends with benefits' deal just because it comes with a little extra weirdness."

"You make it sound so  _simple_ ," Barry says, sounding confused and almost offended at the same time.

"Isn't it? You, me, and sex. If it's anything else it's a favor right? No strings attached. Have you never done this before?" I don't mean it in a mean way. He just sounds like he's thinking from the 'sex has to mean something' viewpoint, which is weird for someone who just propositioned me under the name of 'help.'

"Well, not with a  _guy_. I'm not a virgin or anything, but it can't be that different, right? I mean it's the same basic—"

"It's pretty different," I interrupt, holding one hand up to try and slow him down at least a little. Which is kind of a pointless thing, but also, I guess, what he's asked me to help him work on? "I know what I'm doing, I'll teach you. So, you want to do this now, or what?"

I'm not going to turn him down. It's not  _that_ late — normally I don't collapse into a bed until like, five or six in the morning, because Oliver forgets that some of us, read Felicity, have actual jobs — I'm not that tired, and I haven't got any more than a couple of bruises and nothing real serious.

Plus, the more I think about it the more sex sounds  _really_  good. Things have been rough lately.

Barry looks awkward, embarrassed, but he hasn't vanished and he hasn't said 'no' or some other protest yet. "I, uh, sure? I've got work in the morning, but so long as you've got an alarm I can just run back tomorrow." He seems to realize that he just invited himself to stay the night — not that I was going to just kick him out, probably — and sputters out, "I mean, or tonight. Whichever."

"You really  _haven't_  done this before," I comment, and he ducks his head. "Just with guys, or is casual just not your thing?"

"That one," he admits, with a crooked grin and a tilt of his head. "I've been with a couple women, after I hit twenty-one, but they weren't great ideas or really  _conscious_  decisions."

"You were a virgin until twenty-one?" Abstractly, I know that that's totally a possibility, but I don't think anyone I went to school with was still a virgin by graduation except maybe one or two. Maybe it's a class-difference thing. Far as I know, Barry was a suburb kid, not a bad-neighborhood one.

He flushes a bit, again, and crosses his arms. "Well, yeah. I was the too-smart nerd in school, with the eternal crush on my best friend. Not great date material."

"Fair enough." I watch him for a couple of seconds, then straighten up a bit and sigh. "Alright, come on. We'll start slow, if that's not too hard for you." I give a thin smirk and raise an eyebrow. Challenging him.

He uncrosses his arms, staring at me for a second, and then shakes his head and gives a small laugh. "That was so many different puns I don't even know where to start." Well, at least he looks a little more relaxed and a little less like he thinks I'm going to eat him alive. Which I still might, depending on how hot he actually is once he's out of the suit.

I nod across the apartment, and offer, "How about on the couch?" I start that direction without waiting for a response, and two steps in across the really short empty space he zooms past me and is suddenly sitting down, giving me half the couch and more than enough space. I follow him down, and then turn partly towards him. I point at his suit. "One piece or two?"

He follows the point, and then answers, "Two. Jacket and pants." I watch him swallow, Oliver's training insisting that I notice the tension in his shoulders.

"Relax," I say softly, "and come here." I reach out and pull him closer by his arm, making him shift over on the couch until his thigh presses in against mine, and he looks nervous and definitely not relaxed but I can work with that. He's taller than I am, but luckily he's not so much of a nervous wreck that he doesn't know what I'm going for. He turns his torso more towards me, and leans down a bit as I lean up.

His eyes flick closed a fraction before mine, and I let the brush of lips stay chaste. I haven't got the experience, city kid and all, but I'm pretty sure this is what it's like being around a skittish animal. I've gotta move slow enough not to scare Barry away, but still push the limits if I want to get anywhere close to what he actually wants from me. I guess this just means I get to take things slowly, and make really sure he wants me before things go any further.

Not normally how I do things, but not much about this is normal.

He exhales against my mouth, slow and shaky, and I slide my hand across the back of his shoulder and murmur, " _Relax_ , Barry. This part's not any different." He  _did_ say that the new girlfriend is pretty aggressive, so I can probably be at least a little more forward and it won't feel too weird for him. Barry doesn't strike me as a really dominant guy; more like a whichever way the night happens to go guy.

I slowly move the hand across his back and up his neck, sliding my fingers into his short brown hair and applying just a little bit of pressure to push him into a slightly firmer kiss. He tilts his head, easing out a bit and actually meeting the press of my lips. His hand brushes my hip as he lifts it off the couch, and then touches my side. Cautiously, with just a little bit of pressure, until he apparently decides that I'm not going to back him off and lets his whole hand rest against my waist. His touch is warm, and about the most virgin-cautious thing I've seen in a while, but I resist the urge to roll my closed eyes or snort.

He'll figure it out.

I reach forward with my free hand, touching his thigh, and he starts a little bit and takes in a sharp breath. When he doesn't immediately push me away, even though the kiss is broken, I pull him down a few inches to get a better angle and kiss him again. More forcefully, and coupled with squeezing my hand down over his thigh, which feels like muscle all the way through. I knead it, holding him in the kiss, and after a little bit, to my surprise, his mouth parts and his hand slides up and around my back. Loose, and the flick of tongue to the seam of my lips is cautious, but I wasn't expecting him to take any kind of lead so it's a good surprise.

I make an encouraging noise, and he seems to gather whatever kind of courage he's got and take me at my word. His arm tightens around my back, actually pulling me up against him as much as he can with our torsos still twisted like this, and his other hand touches the side of my neck, thumb sweeping over my jaw and fingers curling to hook and pull me up as he takes the opening of my mouth as the invitation that it is.

He tastes like pizza, and kind of overpoweringly of jalapenos, but most of the spice is gone so it's just a nice touch of slight extra warmth. It's probably just lack of experience showing through, and I wouldn't call him bad at this, but he's definitely got a lot to learn about kissing. The rest of it is actually pretty good though.

I meet his exploration of my mouth, but don't try and reinstate control.

It's probably easier for him if he's the one in charge, at least for right now. It'll probably make him more comfortable, so he's welcome to it as far as I'm concerned. I'm not real picky about positioning; played both sides of that before and I can adapt to whatever.

Barry kisses me for a while, not feeling real hurried and with his hand flat against my back, the other curled against the side of my neck. I keep my grip on his thigh and in his hair, but mostly just let my hands rest there. The muscle of his thigh is nice just to touch — I actually am pretty curious what kind of definition he's got under that suit — and his hair's just long enough to make getting a good grip possible. Maybe I can have fun with that later, if it's his thing. If he doesn't end up being more of a top than the easygoing vibe I'm getting off him.

Eventually he swallows, hand flexing against my back and gripping the fabric of my tank-top tightly for a moment. He pulls back a little bit, lets go of my shirt, and I open my eyes to meet his look. He definitely looks, and feels, more relaxed now, and there's only a little trace of nervousness still in his eyes.

"Not so different, is it?" I ask, and I can see him swallow a second time.

"No," he answers, sounding kind of surprised by the fact. "You don't mind that I did that, right?"

"Took control?" That flush to his cheeks is back, and he gives a small nod. "No. I'm adaptable. If you like it better, go for it."

His grin is lopsided, and then he pauses a second, watches me, and finally leans back in and goes back to kissing me. I can feel him shift after a few seconds of it, raise his left leg — the one I've got my hand on — up onto the couch as he angles himself towards me, and I go along with it. He's careful about leaning me back, and lets me raise my own leg and get it pressed against the back cushion before he lays me down along the couch and fits himself between my legs. He's long and lean, and normally that's the kind that I've got pinned down in the reverse of this, but apparently Barry actually has some idea of how this part tends to go.

He keeps most of his weight off me — not that he has to, muscle or not he's not as dense as half the people I've grappled with in recent fights — and draws the arm beneath me out to brace against the cushion beside my head, his other hand tracing down my neck and down across the black fabric of my tank-top.

I tighten my grip in his hair, pulling him down and keeping him in the kiss, and the little hitch of breath and shudder I get tells me he definitely likes that. Alright, so more comfortable topping for now, but not at all opposed to at least a little bit of being treated as more of a bottom. Yeah, definitely just as much of a switch as me.

There's not much to grab or touch with his suit still on, and what I could grab is a little forward for right now, so I settle for looping my left arm around his back and pressing my palm against it, seeing if his suit is loose enough for me to get a handful. The answer is sort of. I can get a decent grip, but it's too stiff for me to really grip and curl in my fist like a normal shirt. Not that he seems to mind that, judging by the low noise he makes into my mouth, and the press of his hand against my ribs.

I let him explore, his hand grazing down my side and down to my hips before reversing upwards. A demand to at least unzip his jacket hovers on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it back. He's gotta stay comfortable to make this work, and eventually he'll want more. He knows where this is going to end up; he can't be  _that_  naive. He has to know that one way or another we're going to end up at least partly undressed. Sure, we  _can_  have sex totally clothed, but if Barry's not even really a 'casual' guy I'd bet clothed sex wouldn't sit well with him either.

He makes another small noise, pressing down into me and relaxing until a bit more of his weight settles on me, and I echo it with a second noise of encouragement. It's kinda lazy, and definitely not the hot rush that most of my casual nights used to be, but I'm definitely starting to feel the curl of arousal in my belly. Even if Barry isn't actually attracted to guys — probably should have asked that — it's still physical stimulation, and I'd bet he's starting to feel something too. If his hips were down just a little further, maybe I'd be able to feel it.

Or maybe not; his suit's pretty thick.

Barry pulls back again, and when I open my eyes his are still closed, mouth still parted. Maybe he's feeling more than I thought. His eyes flick open, and he ducks his head a little bit away from me like he's just realized that I'm still male, and not one of whatever girls he's slept with. It doesn't look ashamed, just embarrassed.

"You alright?" I ask, loosening the hand in his hair to stroke across his scalp, and he makes an unconsciously pleased noise as his eyes flicker that almost makes me swallow on reflex. Attraction confirmed.

"Yeah." His voice is quiet, and lower pitched than his normal tone. His eyes rise back to meet mine after a second. "This is alright?" He sounds unsure of himself, kinda disbelieving, and I smirk.

"You want to know the only thing I don't like about this?" He looks worried for the second I pause, until I finish with, "That you're still wearing your top, and it's too thick to feel anything through."

The flash of emotions across his face — surprise, mostly — is kinda fun to watch, and it settles into a warm grin that's definitely pretty playful. He pulls up, back onto his knees, and I let my hands fall to watch as he raises one hand and takes hold of the zipper at the front of his throat. I follow it as he pulls down, definitely purposely slowly, and I get to find out that underneath the red suit Barry has a fair bit of defined muscle. Not strength, but all compacted and lean, which makes sense. He's a runner.

I do want to lean up and run my hands across his chest just about the second that he gets that zipper all the way down, but I hold back until he's shrugged it off his shoulders and then dragged it off his arms. He drops it off the side of the couch to the floor, staying pretty still, and I prop myself up on my right arm to get back to something like sitting. He looks a little self-conscious, which doesn't quite play into the show he made of taking off the jacket, but I ignore it.

I wrap a hand around the back of his neck and drag the other up the ridges of his abs, pulling him into a kiss. This time, I press the opposite direction, dragging the leg I have up on the couch in to press against his thigh and hip and dipping my tongue into his mouth. He gasps, his shoulders curving in for a second, and then tilts his head and comes back at me. Not fighting — switch; knew it — but just meeting me where I want to be, and apparently totally alright with me exploring him in return.

His left hand finds the press of my leg, stroking up my thigh, and his right hooks around my waist and clenches tight in my tank-top. Even if he's not attracted to guys, clearly he's affected enough by this that it doesn't matter anymore. If he is, then he's just mostly over the shyness and that's not a bad thing either.

His chest rises and falls under my hand as I trace the curves of muscle, feeling out what kind of power he's got in them. Not that much I don't think, compared to Oliver and me, but if you know how to throw a punch and you're a thousand times faster than your opponent I guess it doesn't matter if you hit that hard. I've seen how effective he is, and he hasn't been doing this that long. He's only going to get better.

Barry presses closer to me, and I take a chance and wrap my arm around him, sliding my hand down his back to grab his ass. If the way his hand squeezes my thigh and the groan he gives into my mouth are any judge, he doesn't mind. So I keep my hand there, appreciating that I actually  _can_ feel his ass through the pants, and knead at it, pulling him a little harder into the kiss by my grip on his neck. He gives another groan.

That's enough to get me started on the way to being hard, and the shudder I can feel shake through his body into mine is another heavy push.

Instead of pushing him onto his back and getting between his legs, I flex my hand on his neck and pull away. I have to swallow and clear my throat to speak, and the half-lidded, aroused look Barry is giving me doesn't make it any easier. "So, usually at this point I'd make some smooth transfer over to the bed, which is way more comfortable. Do you want to stay here instead? Not go farther?"

If Barry wants to just stay out here and keep groping, and maybe not even go further tonight, I'll be disappointed but I'll respect it. He asked for this, and he gets to decide how far it goes. It's not like I'm going to pin him down and fuck him even if he doesn't want me to. It's not like I could even if I was that big a piece of scum.

Barry's a long ways from helpless.

My question does clear up some of the aroused haze from his eyes, and he glances down, considers, and then squeezes my thigh and gives me a warm grin. "I can do the bed." It's a quick answer, but I've got no idea if his brain works faster too. At the least, I know he's a genius. Quick answer doesn't mean he didn't think it through.

"Alright," I agree, letting go of his neck and almost regretfully his ass too. "You're going to need to move."

"I can carry you," he says immediately, but luckily it definitely sounds like an offer and not a statement of intent. "I mean, if you want. Do you want to walk instead?"

I give a crooked smirk and push him back a bit, shoving away the urge to follow him back and pin him down in the reversal of what I let him do to me. "Yeah, the normal human is going to walk. I thought you were trying to slow down anyway."

He flushes at the reminder, and follows me up as I swing my leg sideways and get to my feet. "I, well, maybe? I mean, I don't know. I didn't get that far." I give him a side glance, wondering if he's talking about what it  _sounds_  like he is, and move to lead the way around the wooden shelving to the other half of the apartment. "Cisco brought it up," he says defensively. "It's just a possibility, and I haven't even had the chance to test it yet. It's not like I timed myself before or anything."

Yeah, he is.

"So the speed might affect staying power?" I simplify, and there's some serious embarrassment in his expression as he raises his right hand and rubs it over the back of his neck, wincing.

"Maybe. So, practice and testing is good." Barry follows me around the corner of the shelving, pauses to look around, and I head around the bed that takes up most of the not-real-big second half to strip my tank-top off and chuck it into the pile of dirty clothes in the basket, pushed in the corner.

"I wasn't expecting company," I defend, as an excuse for the totally unmade bed and the general messiness of the room. I turn back around, and catch him staring at me. At my chest, specifically. I can see his lips form a soundless word that might be  _Christ_ , and smirk. It always feels good to get appreciated, especially after all the work I put in with Oliver and Diggle.

I approach him, and a few steps in he jerks his gaze up and to my eyes. That flush, spread over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, is only getting stronger, and he starts to say something that sounds like it's going to be an excuse or a protest. I cut it off by pushing him firmly back against the shelving, ignoring the slight rattle of whatever got disturbed, and raising a hand to slide through his hair and drag him down low enough that I can kiss him. I push my leg between his, leaning my weight into him, and fit my crotch against his upper thigh, not grinding but pushing. He jerks a little bit, hands tapping against my sides as he clearly tries to figure out what to do with them, and then he gives a thick moan and settles them against either side of my waist, fingers flexing in and then stroking up.

If he pushed back I'd let him, but he doesn't seem to have any desire to do anything but run his hands across my chest and let me go back to exploring his mouth, and he all but melts into me. I grip his upper arm with my free hand, and he trembles a little bit before it shifts into something stronger and way less distinct.

I jerk, grinding forward against him because  _oh fuck_ that's what him vibrating feels like. It's one of the strangest, best, most  _amazing_ things I've ever felt, especially where his thigh is doing it against my crotch, and I give a strangled moan from the back of my throat and drop away from the kiss to arch my head back.

" _Crap_ ," he spits, his voice sounding just a little distorted, and the vibration abruptly ceases. I buck forward, dropping my head against his shoulder and trying not to do it again. I am not a teenager anymore, and I won't be dry humping a sort-of friend's leg. Not even if he vibrates and feels  _incredible_.

"Why would you want to  _stop_  doing that?" I ask, nearly breathlessly.

"To not freak out normal people who think I'm normal too," he answers, and then immediately asks, "Does it feel that good?" He sounds curious, and disbelieving, and I snort.

"Yeah, it does."

" _Oh_ , well, I can totally do it when I want to. It's just the involuntary that's the problem. Do you want me to—"

"At  _least_ ," I break in, "wait until I've got my clothes off and I'm laying down." I don't know if I could keep my legs under me with feelings like that, and mutual respect we might have but I still don't want to collapse to the floor in front of him. Also, Diggle takes care of washing the suits at his house, and I don't want to deal with his looks if he finds a mess like that inside my pants.

Barry's hands run up my back, and he shifts and then shivers a little bit. I can feel his hips jerk forward a bit, up against my leg, before he controls them. "Bed, then?" he asks, and I can hear the desire and the slight strain in his voice.

I barely have time to pull my head up and nod, and then he's pushing forward and loosening his arms around me, walking me backwards as he leans down and connects our mouths again. I let him, though I'm definitely not expecting the moment where he lowers his hands and hooks them under the back of both my thighs, lifting me a few inches — with some strain — and then taking the last step to fall over the foot of it, down onto the actual mattress. He's not heavy enough to be uncomfortable coming down on top of me, and he's actually pretty good about following me down slowly, not just crashing down on top.

He ends up half entangled with me, our legs back to pressing against each other's groins, with one arm braced next to my head and my hands splayed out across his back. I really  _do_  appreciate someone that can swap roles with me in just a couple seconds, it's a nice change of pace.

He pushes out a breath and presses down into me; I can see him bite down into his own lower lip in restraint. "Marks?" he asks, after the second has passed.

"I have to work, so nothing a normal shirt won't cover. You?"

He shakes his head, grins. "I heal. Nothing's gonna last long enough to have to worry about it; do whatever."

That's a hell of a thing to put out there, but I'll take him at his word. "Anything you do or don't like I should know about?"

He takes longer than I thought he would to respond, but finally shakes his head again and shoots me a crooked grin that's got a little bit of shame to it. I'm not totally sure what that's from, but he doesn't give me the time to figure it out either. "Experience is kinda limited, but nothing I can think of." Maybe's it's just the ingrained male need to prove 'being a man' by having slept with people. I got over that about at the same time I realized that guys interested me too, but most people haven't yet. "You?" he echoes.

I drag my hands up his back, forcing a shudder and a second of arched tension out of him just to watch it happen. "I'm adaptable. Trust me, you're not gonna cross any lines." Pretty much all of my hard 'no's are at the darker and weirder end of the scale, and everything else I can tolerate, or enjoy. Unless Barry is hiding some serious kinks under the puppy exterior there's no way he'll come even close to making me back him off.

"Alright." He hesitates, and apart from stroking my hands over his back I just wait for him to get his thoughts together, or spit out whatever's on his tongue. "So, which way is this going? I mean, I don't really— but you've kinda—"

I pull him down into me and kiss him just to stop him babbling, and then drag my teeth against his bottom lip as I pull back a few seconds later. It effectively shuts him up, and I consider the question. I really, honestly, have got no problem fucking or being fucked. They're both good in their own way. Barry seems more comfortable topping, sorta, but also doesn't know what he's doing when it comes to guys. Then there's the question—

"Can you control your powers through sex?" I ask bluntly, and he gives me a weird look. "Are you going to start fucking at superspeed?" I rephrase, and he goes bright red.

"I don't know," he admits. "It doesn't happen with just me but neither does the vibrating, and I haven't done this since before I got my powers so it could really go either way. I've got no idea what could happen."

I make something like a grunt of understanding, and then shrug. "Then no offense, but it's safer for me to play top. At least this first time. You alright with that?" It would pretty much flat out suck for him to turn me down now, but I'm not risking friction burns or worse. I know next to nothing about Barry's powers, and he obviously doesn't know much more than that. "It doesn't mean you've gotta roll over or anything," I inform him, belatedly. "I don't mind this. Just follow my shots when I call them."

He nods, and kinda eases a bit at the clarification and my decision. "Alright, I can do that."

"We should probably start with shoes. Nobody takes shoes off gracefully and they're just going to get in the way later. Pants would be good too but that's optional right now." Barry moves, pulling away with flashes of yellow lightning following him, and I have about enough time to blink before there's cold air on my suddenly bare feet, and he's giving me one of those 'pleased with himself' grins from between my legs. Which kind of overwhelms the actual impressiveness of what he just did. "You shouldn't look at me from down there," I tell him, and he tilts his head a bit to one side and peers up at me with what I swear is innocence.

"Why not?"

I lean up a bit to get a better angle, and swallow. "Your head's in between my legs, Barry. Do you  _really_  need me to follow through on where that takes my thoughts?" His gaze flickers down, understanding lighting in his eyes, mouth parting in a small ring —  _Oh_ — that doesn't help the direction my mind's wandering off in.

Mostly how pretty it would be to have his head in my lap, my fingers in his hair and his mouth curled around my dick as he sucked. How  _good_ it would feel.

"I can— I'm not  _opposed_ to it. I haven't before but I could probably learn; I learn fast."

My mouth curls in a small grin at his eager, but weirdly  _passive_ desire to please me, and I shake my head. "Maybe some other time. Take your pants off before you come back up here." Of course he follows the instruction, and I only wish I'd clarified,  _slowly_ , because in a blink the pants of his uniform are one the floor and he's moving back up my body. He presses down against me, lean and fitting easily in between my legs and against my chest, and I give a mostly uncontrolled noise of approval when his mouth drops down to my shoulder.

At the least, he knows how to make a hickey.

He sucks and rolls the skin between his teeth, and I find a grip in his hair with one hand while I lower the other to stroke down his back and to the rise of his ass underneath the pair of — naturally — dark red boxers that are the last piece of clothing he's wearing. He took his own shoes off too; good decision.

It doesn't really occur to me until after I'm arching my head back, gripping at his back and flexing my hand in his hair, that I've been totally assuming that this isn't going to be a one time thing. I mean, it makes  _sense_  that it wouldn't be — I don't think even Barry is going to figure out the vibrating thing in just one time — but we didn't really say anything about it. He said sex, singular, but he also hasn't called me out on my comments about 'next time' or 'some other time.' So is he thinking this is going to be an all-night thing — which I'm also not going to turn down — or is he also assuming this is going to be more than once?

Questions to ask later, when this first time is done. Right after asking if he's actually attracted to guys or not. I'd bet yes, at least a little, but you never know. People are capable of ignoring a lot of things for physical pleasure.

The hand not braced next to my head touches my side, stroking down with more confidence than before, and finds its way between us to — and there he  _does_ hesitate a second — cup over my groin. The groan I give is apparently enough to convince him that I'm not going to stop him, and his fingers find the zipper and drag it down. I can feel his breath against my shoulder, and then his long fingers curl around me through my own black boxers, and I shove out my own breath and tighten the fingers in his hair.

He strokes as he presses down, finding another spot on my shoulder to drag into his mouth, and I can feel the hot proof of his attraction pressing against my thigh. I push up into his hand, and against his crotch, and he shudders sharply and gives a low, wanting sound against my skin. Which is just about enough of that.

"Pants," I say, probably in more of a gasp than it should be to be an order, but Barry still reacts pretty much instantly. His hand pulls away from me, and he lets go of the skin between his teeth and pushes himself up on both arms. His pupils are blown wide when he looks at me, and the desire is easy to see, and it's kinda a rush to know that a super-powered metahuman is that interested with  _me_. "You yank them off I'm gonna have to smack you," I warn him, half seriously, and he grins.

"Got it."

Actually, the way his fingers curl under the edge of my pants and drag them down my hips is nearly  _slow_ , and he watches me the whole time. Not my legs, or my crotch, where most guys stare when they pull pants down, but my face. He meets my eyes instead, watching whatever expression I've got on my face as he slips down and off the end of the bed to finish pulling the pants of my costume all the way off my legs. It's… interesting. I'm gonna go with interesting.

His hands stroke up the inside of my legs as he climbs back up — this time I'm the one who shivers — and then hit my inner thighs and stop, as he kneels between them. "Can I?" he asks, tugging at the bottom edge of my boxers to show what he's talking about.

I have never wanted to shout 'yes' at someone so badly before, but on the off chance that sends him sprinting out of the room faster than I can react, I just nod and answer, "Go for it."

His hands slide a little further up, fingertips curling under the edge of the band and then slowly pulling down, lifting a bit to get it over my dick, and this time he does stare at my crotch instead of my face. He's decent enough to actually get the boxers all the way off my legs though, and not just leave them bunched at my ankles or something. I can see him lick his lips — which  _woah_ , there's that image back again — and then in under a second he's leaning down over me, kissing me wet, and hungrily, and with no skill at all but the passion is good enough it doesn't matter that much.

I grip his upper arms, fairly hard, and he moans into the kiss and doesn't seem to mind apart from a slight startled sound when I push and flip us with a move Oliver taught me that I did  _not_  think I was ever going to use in sex. He hits the bed on his back, and I let go of his arms to stroke my hands down his sides and to his hips, peeling at the edges of his boxers and pausing to give him a second to shove, or stop me, or anything. He doesn't, so I lift my hips and manage, with some awkward and a little bit uncomfortable angles, and some manhandling of his thighs, to get them off his legs without really breaking the kiss.

He shivers, vibrates for a second before he shuts it down, but I'm not pressed down against him and I only feel it in the press of his hands at my chest, and the flicker of his — holy  _fuck_  — tongue against mine.

I jerk back, staring at him with wide eyes, and I should say something or  _anything_ , but my mind is pretty firmly stuck on the fact that he can vibrate on command and that includes his  _tongue_. And maybe I was thinking about having his head in my lap before but  _Christ_  that just adds a whole other level to things.

"Sorry," he gasps, arching a bit, twitching, and finally prying his eyes open. "Working on it."

"Your  _tongue_ vibrates?" is all I manage to say, and he stares at me for a second, confused, before realization lights up his green eyes.

He grins. "Any or all of me," he says, and yeah, it definitely sounds pretty smug. "Could be fun, right?" I'm laughing before I realize what I'm doing, snickering as my head falls forward onto his shoulder and my shoulders shake. "Hey!" he protests, sounding a little offended. "What's so funny?"

"Oh my  _god_ ," I say, between snickering and trying to breathe. "You're literally a human vibrator!" There's a second of stunned silence from him, and then he's laughing with me. Louder, back arching up against me and hands leaving my chest to wrap around my upper arms instead. Loose, steadying, and it's the most I can do just to brace myself as I try to breathe past the laughter.

"Oh  _wow_ ," he gasps. "I hadn't thought of it like that!" He sounds warm and bright and happy, still chuckling even though he recovers faster from the lack-of-breath inducing laughter, and it's enough for me to get past my own and get it down to a wide smirk and small snorts of amusement

I raise my head, rolling and pulling him with me till we're lying on our sides instead of with me on top of him. "C'mere," I say through the smirk, and reach forward to grip the side of his neck to pull him in, thumb grazing across his jaw.

I kiss him slowly, deeply but not rushed, as I shift closer and entangle our legs together, pushing until we're pressed nearly as close as possible. I can feel the hitch in his breathing as our cocks rub together, and the push forward of his hips to make it happen again. I let go of his neck, sliding my hand down his chest — stopping briefly to tweak one of his nipples, just to feel the reaction; a startled gasp, followed by a shallow moan — and then further down to wrap around both of us.

He breaks the kiss, a moan dragging out from deep in the back of his throat as his head tilts in towards the bed, resting. I pull my other arm out from underneath his chest, bringing it up and underneath his neck, stroking up through his hair and then getting a good grip in it. His mouth is parted, eyes closed, and the hand that's not buried beneath us finds a grip at my back and clings tight. My main hand strokes, my breath catching at the feeling and then again at Barry's  _reaction_ to the feeling, and I'm stuck between wanting to lean into him and suck along the side of his neck and down his shoulder, just to taste him, and watching the  _gorgeous_  picture he makes like this.

The first one wins, and I press forward and pull his head a little more to the side with my grip in his hair, forcing his neck to bend sideways and give me more to work with. He's making little strained noises on the exhale of every panting breath; gives a slightly louder one when I graze my teeth across the first spot my mouth lands on, pulling it into my mouth to suck.

I don't know why I expected something special, but Barry just tastes like a human. Clean, but with the taste of salt and sweat heavy on my tongue from what we're doing. It's good, it's one hint of normal in the rest of this kind of weird situation, and as I stroke the two of us I leave a trail of marks down the side of his neck and to his shoulder. It feels  _amazing_ , and I can feel him rocking into the grip, his thighs clenching around the leg I have pushed between them, and I let myself think about what that tongue would feel like, and what it would — will? — look like to sink inside Barry, and what it felt like to have him pressed between my legs.

One thing I'm really sure of is that Barry and me are both willing and able to play both roles, and just because my experience is making me the natural top for now doesn't mean I am not  _really_  looking forward to the first time he fucks me.

I'm  _almost_ sure this isn't going to be a one time thing.

His blunt nails dig into my back, a guttural moan leaving his lips, and I can feel him shake against me, feel him vibrate again. I realize, with my head bowed down next to his and busy at his shoulder, that it actually makes a slight noise. Nothing I can immediately pinpoint, but maybe something like the fast shuffle of paper, and it's so faint it's nearly drowned out by the noise I make into his flesh. He really did mean  _everything_  vibrates.

I smother my sounds against his shoulder, pushing forward to meet him and pushing him a little more towards being on his back. His nails drag down my back — not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make red lines for later — and the noise that works its way out of his chest is loud and slightly distorted.

" _Roy_ ," he gasps, and then he's arching his head back and bucking into my grip, making a high, strangled sound through the clench of his jaw. The vibrations flicker off, and his chest is rising fast and shallow against mine.

I pull back enough to watch, keeping up the stroke of my hand — which yeah, it's been way too long because I don't remember this feeling so damn  _good_ — and just watching him. Staring at the tension in his face and the part of his mouth, the press when he bites down on his own bottom lip to stifle another sound, nails digging harder into my back for a second. His eyes flick open after another few seconds, finding me, and his breath catches hard in his throat, I watch him swallow and feel him shudder.

" _Roy_ ," he says again, like it's a plea, and I tighten my grip in his hair and then forcefully ease it out to scratch my nails across his scalp. That gets me a flicker of his eyelids and a slackening of his mouth that turns to gritted teeth and the rake of nails across my skin.

" _God_ ," I manage to get out of my own mouth, forcing my hips harder against his and quickening the pace of my hand, feeling him hard and hot against me. I want to lean down and kiss him, push my tongue into his mouth and see how much I can get him to melt against me, but I also really want to stay right here and watch him fall apart.

That one wins hands down.

It isn't that long before he's arching tight against me, and I can feel him  _throb_  and jerk, his skin blurring for a second as he comes warm and wet between us and on my hand. His neck arches, face contorting into a grimace as he cries out, and  _that_ swipe of his nails is definitely leaving behind actual scratches. My breath comes short, lust riding high, but I force myself to slow and gentle my hand, weathering the last of his release.

Barry comes down faster than anyone else I've been with, eyes flicking open as he starts to shrink, breath coming hard but already evening out. His hand is loose on my back, and the look in his eyes is hazed and soft, and I stop trying to hold back. I lean in and drag him up for a kiss, taking full advantage of his lazy, eased surrender to push my tongue into his mouth. I let go of both of us, wrapping my hand back around his hip and grabbing his ass, pulling him in hard against me. He makes a low, satisfied noise that makes me both proud and makes my cock twitch, and I shift up a bit so our heads are even, and I can roll my hips in against the heat and muscle of his abs, and the leftover scattered wetness of his come.

He flexes, sucks in a sharp breath that draws his stomach in a bit, but then the slight tension eases away and his hand strokes up my back, pulling me closer. Like there's any more room between us to close.

Then he tightens his legs around mine, pulls the hand on my back to rest on my chest instead and  _pushes_ , rolling us to press me into the bed flat on my back. He breaks the kiss, pulling away despite my protesting sound and shaking my hand out of his hair, both hands pressing against my chest and keeping me down. My other hand still has a hold of his ass, but that's the only grip I've got on him.

I might murder him if he tries to leave now, or at least be  _really_ pissed, but luckily there's nothing about the look he's giving me that makes me think he wants to leave. No embarrassment, no shame, just satisfaction and a lazy kind of pleasure, and a smile that's slowly widening to a soft grin.

He doesn't say anything, there's just a blur of motion — knocking my hand loose from his ass — and then his mouth is on my cock and I give a startled shout and arch off the bed, hands clenching in the sheets. It's more the shock of pleasure than any serious, instant, skill he's got at it. Because once I come down from that first surprise it's real obvious he's got no practice at this and is just working off whatever he's heard about or seen. It's definitely not bad, but it could use some work.

I lower my hands, drawing my knees up to press in on his shoulders and combing through his hair. Not gripping to pull or press, but just stroking through. I swallow, gather myself, and then manage to say, "Don't take more than's comfortable; hand for the rest. Watch the teeth."

I'm not going to tell him he can't, or that he doesn't have to.  _He_ took the lead, and he's the one who pushed me down and did it all by himself. I didn't ask, or prompt, and I would have been just fine getting off against his stomach. He chose to, and at this point he should know damn well I'm not going to make him do anything he doesn't want to.

He makes a noise of acknowledgement that buzzes up my cock and drags a gasp out of me, and follows the advice. He seems to get the idea of sucking and stroking in rhythm without me saying anything, and I raise my right hand out of his hair to trace it down around his ear and neck. There's the flash of green eyes looking up at me, and my breath catches. I can feel him grin around me, and then there's the buzz and incredible  _sensation_  that  _has_ to be his tongue vibrating against the underside, and I shout again and buck up, shoving up into his mouth before I can control myself.

He chokes a little bit, and I manage to spit out, "Other hand, hip," before pulling both hands away from his hair so I don't yank at it. The sheets are a way safer bet.

Barry gets the hint, pressing the hand not wrapped around the lower part of me hard into my hip to keep it pinned down, and I jerk my right arm up above my head, curling my fingers into the cushion of one of the pillows to have something to grip. I breath hard, gritting my teeth together and pressing my thighs in harder against his shoulders. He makes another satisfied noise, tongue rolling and flicking even as it vibrates, like an unholy sentient vibrator — which is  _exactly_  what he can do, god  _damn_ — bent on finding exactly what makes me give the loudest sounds.

Damn skill, Barry doesn't need it. Put his mouth or his fingers between a woman's legs — or mine, jesus  _fuck_  please mine — and he could make them do anything he wanted with the right instruction.

It is a serious shame that he's not dating someone that knows what he can do, and he'll never get to show this off to them. Or, maybe it's not and I can be greedy and proud and the  _only_ one who knows that he can do any of this. I think, just maybe, I might be able to live with that privilege.

" _Fuck_ ," I choke out. "Christ,  _Barry_." His fingers flex into my hip, and I twist the sheet in my hand to not reach down and do the same to his hair. I was already pretty worked up, especially with how damn good Barry looks and sounds when he's coming apart, and this isn't going to take long to get me off. Not if he keeps pressing his tongue right into the most sensitive spots, and he was  _not_ kidding when he said he learned fast.

I jerk and drag in enough of a breath to say, " _Barry_ , as some kind of warning, because someone inexperienced like him  _deserves_ a warning before I come in his mouth, and his hand flexes against my hip again and then deliberately taps.

Normally I'm used to a tap being a surrender in a spar, but I'm pretty damn sure right now he means it as proof he heard. It's not like I'm holding him in any way, and any lingering restraint disappears in the face of realizing that he's got superspeed, and insanely good reflexes, and at worst he'll probably get a taste he wasn't expecting.

I twist the sheet and pillow in my grip and feel the tremble start in my legs, about a second before it spreads up and I jerk and press into the bed with a groan that feels dragged from the bottom of my stomach. Suddenly Barry is pressed up against me, hand wrapped around me and his body layered over mine as I come. He closes his mouth over a bit of my shoulder and sucks as he strokes me through my release, and I abandon the sheets with my one hand to clutch at his back instead.

When the tension eases I sink back against the bed, swallowing and getting my breath back, and Barry lets go of my shoulder and relaxes down onto the bed beside me. He's half on top of me but mostly just pressed in a long line along my side, his breath tickling the side of my neck and one arm hooked over my chest.

I keep my eyes closed, letting myself come down easy and fully enjoying the warmth of him at my side. Eventually, when I've got all my air back and I'm just feeling nice and lazy instead of floating high, I ask, "Are you actually attracted to guys?" It comes out a little rough, and I turn my head to lie the other way and face him.

"A few," he answers, meeting my gaze with a fairly small grin. "I'm here, right?"

I snort and lean over a bit to kiss him, and he seems pleasantly surprised but more than willing. He tastes a little bit of me, but I've always hated the guys that won't kiss after someone gives them head. If  _they_  don't want to taste it, why the hell should they expect me to?

"This going to be a one time thing?" is what I ask next, when the kiss eventually ends.

"Well, the idea was  _practice_ , which is usually more than once," he points out, with a slightly teasing tone. "But you know, if you're not interested…" There's definitely something serious in the way he says that, and something a little questioning in his eyes, and I lean back in for a second to brush my lips over his.

"I'm interested," I reassure him. "Who else are you going to figure all this crap out with? Or figure out what kinda neat tricks you can do with that vibrating?" I am  _really_ looking forward to that. I think we're gonna find some really interesting stuff that he'd never learn in just normal training.

Like that he can probably give the best blowjobs in the world as soon as he's got some experience doing it.

"I thought you were supposed to be helping  _stop_ the vibrating," he says with a bright smirk, his arm squeezing around my chest for a second.

I shift and turn in towards him, appreciating the slide of his arm over my chest to rest mostly against my back, and looping mine over his waist. "Sounds like a fair trade. I help you stop vibrating, you let me figure out what you can do with it."

He slides in against me, pressing legs warm between and around mine, giving a pleased sound with that grin still on his face. "I can do that." Barry kisses me, slow but not really lazy anymore, and pulls me a little closer with the hand on my back.

It's been a long time since I had the time and energy to just lie next to someone like this. Even with Thea I was always busy, trying to find the Arrow or trying to keep myself together and with a roof over my head. After Thea I poured myself into working with Oliver, and keeping the city safe. So getting to just lie in the afterglow and trade kisses with an attractive man?

Yeah, worth my time.

He shifts, pressing even closer, and I can feel him stir against my hip. He makes a low noise, and I pull back a bit to glance down, confirm that he's starting to rise, and then smirk and look back up to meet his gaze. "Fast in a couple ways, huh?"

He did get off pretty quick, but that could've been the speed or the lack of experience, or both. Hard to say. This, on the other hand, is obvious. Not even teenagers recover that fast, it's gotta be the powers.

Barry gives a small laugh, and half of a shrug. "I guess? New to me."

"Well I'm not," I say, with the same smirk, "so you're gonna have to give me some time." Even though I am totally willing to just lie here and let Barry rock against my thigh, or jack off, or whatever else he wants to do. I just need some time before I'll be ready to do any of that with him. Probably only a few minutes before I've got the energy to do something, and a decent amount more before I get physically interested again.

I wonder if Barry's got the same limits as a normal guy? Is he faster to recover, but with the same maximum amount of times he can get off before things get way too sensitive to feel good anymore, and it's not worth the time to anybody involved? Or does this extend to recovering from that too, and he has a higher or maybe even nonexistent limit?

Things to find out. I'm kind of surprised he hasn't found this out already, honestly, but then if he's a mostly-virgin kinda guy he probably doesn't do more than just jack off normally, and once.

"I can wait," he says with confidence, and then softens to add, "This is nice."

"Patience? You?" I rub my hand up his back, offering him a small smirk at the totally fake offence on his face. "You don't have to wait, just don't expect me to get it up again for a while. I've got no issue helping, or just watching."

He swallows, I can feel him stir with a little more intent, and then ducks his head and tucks it in underneath mine, against my chest. He's a little too tall for it to work with how we are, but he shuffles down to make it happen, arm warm around my waist and his head tucked under my chin. He presses his mouth against my throat, and then goes more or less still.

"Way more interesting to wait," he mumbles into my skin, quiet enough I can only barely hear him. "And good practice," he adds belatedly, louder and with humor, and I can feel his grin against my skin.

Oh yeah, this is  _definitely_ worth my time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 2! Have I mentioned yet how this is a total PWP with only the barest grounding in the actual canon story? Because that is so, so true. XD Enjoy!

Waking up to someone else is nice, and I shift against the long stretch of Barry's back and bury my head a little more firmly between his shoulder blades. He's warm and comfortable, and a distant part of my brain knows at some point an alarm will go off, so I might as well enjoy whatever time I've got before that happens and he runs off back to Central City.

I'd like to sleep more — it was a long,  _active_  night — but I know it'll just avoid me. Once I'm awake I'm usually stuck that way for at least a couple hours, so there's no point in trying to force myself into it. It's early, I know that, and I don't have to be at Verdant until the afternoon, so I can afford to stay conscious and just crash for a couple hours of sleep after Barry's gone.

Besides, as my mind pulls closer to consciousness, Barry is warm, and solid, and active night or not that's still really nice. I also really have to piss though, so I'll hold off on really exploring a sleep-lazy super-speeder. If such a thing exists.

I slowly disentangle myself from Barry, and he curls in on himself a bit as I slip out from underneath the covers and the cold air hits his back. He doesn't even come close to waking up though, and I pad around the bed and to the open door, across from my front door, that goes to the bathroom. I close it softly behind me, and take care of business before, after a few seconds of consideration, brushing my teeth too. It feels good to have at least that part of me clean, even if the rest of me is not the best smelling thing right now.

I dragged us through a wet washcloth cleanup last night, but that's just not enough. I consider a shower, but decide against it.

I might be able to convince Barry for a last round before he goes, and maybe he'll want to join me in my shower. It's not really big enough for two people, but we can make it work, it just means we'll have to be pretty close. What a shame.

I head back out, taking a minute to find my phone — remarkably free of messages, actually — and check the time to see if I've actually got enough of it to do anything.

Oh yeah, more than. This was really closer to a nap than real sleep, apparently, which normally would be frustrating but right now is just a bonus. That means I can wake Barry up — if he's not one of those dead to the world sleepers — and see if he's interested in anything, or can be convinced. He more than kept up last night, even if I didn't push things as far as actual fucking. Plenty of time to get to that later, since he's new to guys. I'll save it for next time, or maybe even later. Last night was just introduction.

 _Lots_ of introduction.

I swallow at the memories —  _jesus_ , his  _tongue_ — and slide back into the bed, and he makes a sleepy, displeased noise when my cooler skin touches his back. I don't let it stop me, pressing in against his back and running my higher hand down across his side and then forward to his chest. I can feel him stir a little bit, and lower my mouth to suck a mark into the back of his shoulder, which gets me a little bit more of a response. He makes some kind of half-conscious noise, and I deliberately slide one of my legs in between his and the other over the top, pressing myself against him firmly, but not hard. Not yet.

The next noise that leaves him is a bit more questioning, when I move my mouth to the side of his neck, and he tilts his head back and takes in a slightly deeper breath. I stroke my hand up his chest, finding the soft pads of his nipples by touch and rubbing over them, drawing his leg back a little bit with the grip of my thighs to pull him back into me. His next inhalation is a little shaky, and he makes a soft, aroused sound as he shifts back against me and arches a little more purposefully.

I finish raising the mark on the side of his neck, not that it's actually going to last for more than a few minutes, and pull back enough to murmur, "Hey."

"Hey," he answers, soft and lazy, and gropes upwards with his hand until he finds my shoulder, following the line of my neck up to gently curl his fingers in my hair. "That's nice," he comments, sounding half-asleep. "Don't stop."

I go with it, flexing my thighs around the leg I've got captured and let my touches get a little firmer, a little more purposeful. I return my mouth to his skin, and his fingers stroke over my scalp as he tilts his head and bares more of his neck, silently approving of my lips and teeth against him. He lets his other hand lie still against the mattress — mine is caught between our backs unless I want to push it under him — and makes a small sound from somewhere low in his throat, something between a hum and a groan. Either way, it doesn't sound anything but pleased and lazily satisfied, so I take him at his word and keep up my attention.

I'm growing hard against his back and ass, and I know he can feel it, but I resist grinding forward into him. I've got plans, or at least ideas. To start with…

"I was thinking of taking a shower," I murmur into Barry's neck, and pressed as close as I am I can feel the little hitch of breath that my words get in reaction. "Want to join me? Shower's not big, but we can make it work."

His fingers flex in my hair, and he pushes back into me with a pleased sound, arching and I have to close my eyes for a second to hold back at the press and rub of his body against mine. "Sounds good," he answers, sounding a little more awake. "Been awhile since I took a shower at a regular speed." I open my eyes in time to watch him pull his head down a bit, and blink as he turns a bit towards, and into, me. "There's time?"

"It's early." He makes a face, but flashes a quick grin after it that stops me from considering that he might actually be unhappy about being woken up. "You can wait till I've got the water hot, if you want."

"Nah," he stirs a little more purposefully, but doesn't pull away from the hook of my arm around his waist. "That door?" He nods his head in the right direction, and I make a noise that's at least somewhat like confirmation. If my suddenly empty arms and the rush of  _cold_  air into the space that Barry was a second ago is any real clue, he got it.

I shiver a little, drawing into the blankets to deal with the sudden cold. I hear the shower start, a flush, and a few seconds of what I'm pretty sure is my sink. Must be handy to be able to do all of that in the span of seconds. Then there's warmth and pressure at my back, and Barry is half leaning over me to press his lips to mine. I can taste the flavor of my mouthwash, but not the toothpaste, which I appreciate. His hand strokes up the back of my neck into my hair, curling his fingers in it to get a grip good enough to pull and angle my head better for the press of his mouth.

That gets a small groan from me, and I can feel him grin a fraction of a second before he pulls at my hair a little harder. I might have learned a lot about what Barry does and doesn't like last night, and how to get him to make exactly the noises I wanted to hear, but he learned just as much if not more. I never, ever claimed to be hard to read, and I tend to be pretty free with my reactions and my noises. Barry's smart; he picked a  _lot_  up first try.

I don't really know what he's like to just hang around, but the sex is good enough — and I haven't even had the time to really  _teach_ him things, but his eagerness and that  _tongue_ — I'm almost kind of disappointed I don't get to keep him. This is good, but it's just until he figures out how to control himself, if he can.

I shouldn't, but a really selfish part of me wants him to never figure it out so he gets limited down to people who know what he can do, and I can keep him.

This is  _really_ premature. Yeah, he's a good lay that's going to get  _amazing_ , but I don't know much about Barry other than that. I know he's smart, can be reckless, and at least at first glance he feels pretty innocent to how fucked up the world can be. Oliver probably knows more, or Felicity, but there's no way in hell I'm talking to either of them about this. They never need to know this is happening.

Besides, good sex doesn't make a relationship. And  _jesus_  who said I even wanted one? I so don't have the time, or the energy, or the spare attention right now.

"Do I get to carry you this time?" Barry asks between our mouths, a teasing edge to his tone.

I roll my eyes, trying to fight down the desire pulsing through me at the press of him over me, and the slight scratch of his nails against my scalp. "If you  _have_  to," I allow, making my tone a lot more grudging than I actually feel. "No dumping me in the water; I expect to get in myself."

He makes a sound that I'm pretty sure is victory, and then he's pulling the covers down — slowly, actually — and making up for the temperature difference by immediately pressing up against about as much skin as he can cover. It's not all of me, since he might be taller but I'm wider, but it's enough that I don't cringe away from the cold. Also,  _really_  nice because of all that smooth, naked skin suddenly against mine. And Barry, oh Barry is  _rarely_ still.

His hand lets go of me as he shifts, and his arms curl carefully under me at my knees and back. The second of pause to let me adjust is appreciated, and I close my eyes in preparation for the rush of movement that happens almost immediately after. It's short, more like suddenly I'm on my feet and somewhere else than the actual sensation of being carried — like Barry taking me to my apartment — but I'm still glad my eyes are closed. I'd bet that it's just as disorienting even in short bursts.

Barry's pressed against my back, head ducked down into my shoulder and his arms around my waist. I flick my eyes back open, steadying myself partly on the cheap linoleum floor but mostly from the touch of him against me. Tall and relatively skinny maybe, but after watching all his little bursts of superspeed from last night I've got no more doubt that his reactions are  _good_. He'd correct me if I slipped — like that would happen — probably before I'd even had time to get that instinctive shot of adrenaline from falling.

The water in the shower is on, spraying down beyond the blockade of the mostly-closed glass door, and there's one of my towels spread out across the floor in front of it. Two more — I've only got four towels in total; package deal — are in a folded pile at the edge of the spread-out one, Barry's got both the fan and the light on, and the blinds closed over the already fogged window at the far end of the small room.

"I could get used to this," I warn him, sliding my hands along his arms and leaning my head back onto his shoulder.

"What's that?" he asks, before dragging his mouth along the front of my shoulder and sucking it in between his teeth. I bite back a pleased hum, settling for easing a little more into the solid warmth of him.

"Having you fix everything before I get there; it's kinda nice."

Barry gives a little breathy sound of amusement, and I can feel his grin against my shoulder. "Unless it's your gangs?"

"Yeah," I agree, "unless it's the gangs. Leave Oliver's gangs alone; he'll skin me if I let you run wild."

I can feel the tension slip through him, and then he raises his head a little bit. Not totally out of reaction, or at least he pauses enough to graze his teeth over the shell of my ear — which is really fucking good — but mostly to ask, "Does Oliver know about any of this?" He sounds a little worried, maybe embarrassed, but I just snort.

"Well,  _I_ wasn't going to tell him. I'm pretty sure he still thinks I'm straight; not like I've ever told him anything else." I let my head tilt back a little further, since his shoulder is at just about the perfect height for it to be a pillow. "Gotta say, good view watching him do workouts."

"You know," Barry says, something teasing and halfway to laughter in his voice, "I think Felicity mentioned something about that. Does he really not  _notice_  you guys stare?"

"I'm watching his technique," I answer instantly, faking total sincerity. "Of course." Barry laughs, arms tightening around my waist for a few seconds, and then presses his mouth in against the side of my head. "Anyway, yeah. I'm probably not going to tell him unless he flat out asks. You want to keep this quiet?"

"If you don't mind." It sounds like more of a guilty confession, but I just shrug and shake my head.

"Private business; whatever. Just need to know if you really want me to stay quiet about it. I mean, Diggle can usually put things like this together even faster than Felicity. I'm not going to say anything, but if someone asks…?" I turn my head a bit to look up at him. "I can make something up no problem, want me to?"

He hesitates, and then gives a slight shift of his head that I'm pretty sure is a nod. "Yeah, that'd be good." His eyes flick open wider, and he looks down at me with a swift jerk of his head. "I'm not ashamed or anything, and I'm so not meaning to trivialize this because I really,  _seriously_ , appreciate you saying yes even though it was such a weird thing to ask, but I—" He cuts off sharply, looking just a little uncomfortable, and I raise my right hand to reach up and touch the side of his face, run back through his hair.

"Calm down, Barry, you're not the first person to not want anybody to know he's sleeping with another guy. Not by a long shot."

He looks a little startled, and quickly comes back with, "It's not  _that_. World's totally moving on; at least in Central. My chief's homosexual, actually, and wow did  _that_  sound like an excuse. Anyway, nevermind, I'm  _so_ not doing this because I'm afraid someone's going to criticize me for being bi. It's just  _why_."

"Why we're fucking?" I ask bluntly, and he cringes — probably at my word choice; the night showed me that Barry's really not a crude kinda guy — before he snorts.

"Pretty much. Get enough teasing; really don't need to add 'uncontrollable vibrating when aroused' to that list, thanks. It's a  _little_  better than other things, but Felicity  _never_ needs to know that. Not for at least years, once I've got it handled."

I resist the urge to make the obvious pun about 'handling,' and then let go of his hair and lower my hand again. "Got it. I'll think up something; shouldn't be hard." I should probably just be able to tell them that I slept with some random person, if they ask. Who cares if they actually believe me? My business is my business. "Alright, let go. Shower should be hot by now."

I'm mostly basing that on the fact that there's a bit of steam coming out of the slightly open glass door, and the air's still a little chilly out here but I'm sure it's warm over there.

His arms release me, and I raise my head off his shoulder and step forward, onto the towel spread out. I open the door a bit more, extending a cautious hand into the water. It's pretty hot, and I twist the knob down a little, glancing back at Barry. He's watching me, totally obviously until he catches my gaze and tilts his head, giving a grin that's equally embarrassed and really  _not_ ashamed. It melts into a smile that's nearly a smirk, and I shake my head again and reach back into the water.

Much better.

I slip inside, closing my eyes for just a second at the absolutely glorious spray of hot water across my chest and shoulders, and instead of blurring into focus next to me like I half expect him to Barry actually follows me at a normal speed. He steps inside, and I move to give him room to get all the way in and close the door. To do that without smacking my elbows on the sides of the shower, it pretty much requires us to be face to face with only about half a foot between us. If he wasn't a now-wet, over six foot, in good shape, switch, I might mind the lack of space. But since the first thing he does after the door is closed is edge forward to push me back against the wall and kiss me, I think I can forgive the close quarters.

His left hand slides around the back of my neck, one knee pressing in between my legs, and his right lowers to sweep down my side and curl his long fingers around my hip. The water is loud in the confined space, blocking out pretty much all of the faint normal sounds — flesh against flesh, the slight wet noises of kisses, the shift of muscle — but it completely makes up for it by making the whole experience wet. Barry's got a little bit of hair, but mostly it's pretty fine and on his arms and legs, light enough to mostly blend in. The important part is that he slides against me more or less smoothly, and the heat of the water, and the feeling, is definitely getting a reaction from me.

There's just something about showers.

I let my arms come up, the left looping around his waist to pull him in closer and the right mimicking his grip on the back of my neck. His spine stands out underneath my fingers, just a little bit, but there's obvious muscle past that feeling. I really  _do_  appreciate this long and lean thing, though tall is totally optional. Height's not a thing for me.

Barry leans into me, thigh rubbing in against me because oh he learned  _fast_  how to behave with another guy. I make some kind of sound that might be a groan between our mouths, and his fingers flex on my hip and then slide a bit down my thigh.

It surprises me a little, but I'm  _not_  complaining, when he presses in to have both legs between mine and pulls my left leg up by his grip on my thigh, supporting it and guiding it up to wrap over his hip and around his waist. I make an encouraging, pleased noise, and his hand strokes back down my thigh, holding it up. Mostly, the new position lets me grip his waist with at least half of my leg strength and drag him in closer, until he's pressed as close as he can get and his cock and stomach is providing a nice place for mine to rub against. I feel him shiver, the hand on my neck rubbing its fingers into my skin almost idly.

"We should  _actually_  shower," he comments in the second of our mouths parting, sounding reluctant.

I don't have to take more than a glance at his closed eyes, parted lips, wet hair, and the glisten of his wet skin, before I answer, " _Later_."

Considering the tightened grip on my neck and thigh, and the half out of breath gasping sound he makes, all without opening his eyes, I'm pretty sure he agrees.

I guess if he's mostly virgin, and totally virgin with guys, this must be one hell of an experience. I mean, if you show anyone something they haven't tried before, and it's supremely awesome, of course they're going to want as much as they can get. Sex, if I say so myself, is pretty damn awesome most times. So long as you've got somebody who knows what they're doing, and I like to think I'm not so bad at it. Barry seems to appreciate my skills, and I know Thea did. A recommendation from both genders is pretty damn good, so unless someone tells me otherwise I'm just going to keep saying that I'm  _good_  at sex.

Anyway, who knows when the next time is that Barry's going to have the time to get to Star City? Sure, for him it's a twenty minute run, but that's still a period of time, night or day, that he's going to be away from his city.

If this were Oliver, I know that'd never fly. I'm probably not even going to get a night off like this again. Barry showing up and pretty much ruining our operation is the only reason that I did, and Oliver might get a little beyond pissed if he  _keeps_ doing it. Once was enough, we'll have to time this a little better next time.

Gotta say, I didn't really expect to suddenly get pulled into a friends-with-benefits relationship with the only super-powered human I know. That's pretty far outside the radar of things I was thinking about.

Jesus, I don't even think I'd thought about getting laid in a while.

Thea's right there most days, and I do still love her at least a little, even if it's just a friend, and I know that she'll be able to look at me and know the look of me having gotten some. Oh man, she's just going to  _know_ when I get into work at Verdant; that's going to be a hell of an encounter. Or maybe she'll be nice about it, and just point out she knows with a look or something before she lets it go. She left me — totally justified, I don't even blame her now that I'm actually pretty stable — so it's not like she's going to expect me to not sleep with anyone else.

I've got no idea what she would think of Barry. I  _think_  Thea knows I'm bi, but it might just never have come up.

Barry leans back into me, his skin sliding across mine with the water smoothing the way, and I give up on any semblance of really thinking. Yeah; Thea, sex,  _Barry_.

He's pressed a little further up my stomach — height difference — but we're close enough that I can pull my left arm out from around his waist and reach down to wrap my fingers around both of us. He makes a whining noise into my mouth, hips pressing hard in against mine in a roll forward. My fingers really only catch the very head of me, if I want any kind of decent grip on him, and I let go of that pretty quickly to just get a better hold. I manage four strokes, with him twisting and pressing against me, fingers flexing in their holds as whatever noises he's making get swallowed between us, before a  _way_  better idea occurs to me.

I slide the hand on the back of his neck up, far enough to curl my fingers in his hair in a solid grip, and then break the kiss by pulling his head back. Not hard or fast — Barry likes having his hair tugged, or pulled, but he's not a fan of pain and doesn't appreciate anything as hard as a yank — but just enough to make sure he goes with it. I open my eyes to watch him arch his throat back, and take advantage of the long line of it by pushing forward and putting my teeth against it. I can feel the rumble of a moan through the vibration of his throat into my mouth, and I take my time raising a few marks down the front of it. Not right down the center, but just a bit to the right.

"Ah,  _Roy_." His tone has just a bit of pleading in it, and it's enough for me to throw any kind of stalling out the window.

I pull my thigh away from him, setting my leg down, and let go of his cock to grip his hip instead. From there it's fairly simply to slip sideways and reverse our positions, turning him with me and pushing him up against the wall. His eyes flick open, but the look he gives me is just lust; he's not worried.

"Sit back and enjoy," I tell him, with a smirk, and let go of his hair as I drop to my knees.

Somehow, in all of the grabbing and pulling and general  _greatness_  of last night, I never got around to repaying Barry's ridiculous, unfair advantage of a vibrating tongue. It just never quite came up; most of last night was touching and just going with the flow. I'm definitely fixing that. Maybe he's got that tongue, but I've got experience and skill on my side.

I suppose it's not like Barry really has much of anyone to compare me to, even if I  _wasn't_  sure that I'm good at this.

His mouth parts like he's going to say something, and then snaps closed fast enough that I'm almost convinced it was a hint of superspeed. Instead of whatever he was going to say he just nods, eyes a little wide. It  _had_  to have occurred to him, but maybe he just thought I wasn't going to reciprocate? Oh,  _no_ one gets to think that. I give whoever I sleep with just as good a time as I have. I make sure of that.

I flex the hand still gripping his hip, and then raise the other to wrap around the base of him. He's still and poised, it almost looks like he's holding his breath, and I flash him a smirk — which gets me a visible swallow — before leaning in to wrap my mouth around him and closing my eyes. I can feel him jump, hear what I think was actually a bitten off curse, and take what's easily comfortable into my mouth.

I've got practice, and he's not small but I'm sure I could fit all of him. I have played and slept with people a  _lot_ rougher than I think he's capable of being, and learned to work around and with it. When he starts grabbing, and pushing, and being more than a relatively passive recipient, I can handle it.

I feel one of his hands brush through my hair, immediately retract, and I flick my eyes open to look up and find out why. The sight almost makes me smirk again.

Barry's flattened back against the wall, head twisted to one side and eyes tightly shut, mouth parted and his right arm outstretched and pressed hard against the wall at the corner of the shower. He's tensed, and the other hand is flattened out against the wall beside his thigh, the very ends of his fingertips just starting to curl inwards to grip. I guess I did stop myself from grabbing  _him_  when he was doing this, and Barry seems to learn mostly by example or experimentation. I didn't grab him, so he must be assuming I wouldn't like it if he grabbed me either.

I draw back, slowly, pausing for a few seconds to play with just his head while I watch his reaction. The arched throat and breathless cry are nice rewards, and I appreciate them as much as I can before letting him slip from between my lips. His chest heaves, but when I tap his hip with my hand he pulls together enough to look down.

"You can touch, Barry," I tell him, with just a bit of teasing that I can't help. "I can handle anything you do; don't worry about me."

I don't give him enough time to answer, I just get back to work. Not that  _any_  of this is what I'd consider work.  _Fuck_  no. Giving someone else pleasure is a  _fantastic_  feeling, and screw anyone who thinks otherwise. Partners should share equal pleasure, or at least should both leave totally satisfied. Oral is a totally legitimate part of that, male or female.

After a little bit, a couple of seconds maybe, one of his hands touches my hair, and then slides in to grip it. I encourage him by sucking harder for a moment, and then releasing my grip on his base, relaxing my jaw, and sliding deeper over him. The sound he makes is  _amazing_ , and the next thing I know there are two hands in my hair, gripping and cradling my skull. I brace both hands on his hips, angle myself a little better, and open wider to get the very last of him in.

I can feel him throbbing against my tongue, and it's a nice realization that he tastes alright. Not everyone does.

He makes another sound that — past the drive of the water against my back and the floor — I think is probably words, might be my name, but if he wants an answer he shouldn't expect one anyway. Even if I'd understood him.

I let a hum vibrate my throat — way less intense than his trick, but it does the job — and get a sharp buck that I pin down and a flex of the fingers in my hair, both of which spark little fires of pride in my chest. Even if he's new at this, and probably doesn't have a comparison, I still made him do that. Fuck what anyone else says; this, right here?

This is  _power_. How could having some other man at your mercy like this be anything  _but_  powerful?

I pull back about half of the way, so my tongue can get to the more sensitive bits of his head for a lingering touch, before sliding back down. I repeat the motion, feeling the shifts of his muscles and hearing the noises above me, and keep it steady. Slower, but not frustratingly slow like I'd be if I wanted to tease. Just steady.

When his hands eventually press a bit at the back of my skull, pushing in with the rhythm of my intake, I give him an encouraging hum and flex my fingers against his hips. Luckily, Barry seems to take all of my encouragements or information at face value. Past there his presses get harder, and he starts pulling a bit the opposite direction. More like guiding my head, and less just there to touch it. I don't know if he's just relaxing and not holding back what he wants to automatically do, or if he's actively trying this to see how I react and what happens, but either way I like it.

The only thing I can think of — that won't be some random accident — that Barry could do that I might not be able to take would be any use of superspeed. I've got no idea what that would feel like, if I could go with it, or if it might make me choke. What I  _do_  trust is that Barry is good natured and decent enough that he'll notice if anything he does messes me up, and he'll stop and let me fix it. He's not oblivious or mean enough to just go right through my pain or discomfort for his own orgasm, no way.

Barry's a genuinely good guy, and for once I mean that totally non-sarcastically. I don't know many — if I know  _any_  — people that are both good on the surface, and actually  _nice_  and  _decent_  underneath that outside layer. Sure, people might call Oliver a hero, and I so don't doubt that he means well, but I don't think I'd count him 'good' in the same way Barry is.

He's not perfect. He's reckless sometimes, he doesn't have much patience, and he shows off, and that's just what I know from seeing him around the once or twice as the Flash. But still, he's honestly just in this to help people as far as I know.

Barry's hands tighten in my hair, a sharp, high noise escaping his mouth and bouncing off the shower's walls. I keep to the rhythm even without the guide of his grip, pressing a little harder to make sure I keep his hips down.

"I—" He starts to speak, but cuts off almost instantly with another cry, and when I flick my eyes open and glance up his head is thrown back and his jaw is clenched, the muscle in his neck standing out.

I get the hint.

I pull off, replacing it with my hand, and shift to my heels to push up and against him again. I don't mind swallowing, sometimes, but I don't know Barry well enough for that. Even though I like him, even though he's a pretty good lay for as virgin as he is, I'm not just going to jump on board and go full throttle with this. If this keeps up, and if I get around to really, seriously, trusting him, then I'll think about swallowing. But not yet.

His left hand smoothes out and wraps around the back of my neck instead, as I stand, and his right drops out of my hair to slide down my back and pull me up and tight against him. His head is still tilted back, so as I stroke him and work him past that last rise, I bring my mouth up to his shoulder. It  _is_ handy having a partner that heals fast enough that marks aren't a problem.

I've got a decent collection of them down across my shoulders, and a few scattered ones across the rest of me — I happen to like teeth against my skin, and Barry figured that out pretty fast — but they're all contained to within what I can hide in a normal t-shirt. Even the scratches down my back.

His hand tightens on my neck, and he arches forward against me and gives a half-strangled shout towards the ceiling, The vibration that comes with the orgasm is pretty brief, but strong, and enough to push a moan from my throat at the feeling of it pressed against so much of my skin. I can feel his release splash up against my chest, and I gentle my grip and stroke him through it, until the vibration snaps off and he goes lax back against the wall.

I finish the mark I'm working on before pulling back, listening to and feeling the hard pace of his breathing as his chest rises against mine, and carefully letting go of him as he starts to soften.

Both his hands are resting more than gripping, and he slowly pulls his head forward far enough to drop it onto my shoulder. I close my eyes and swallow to restrain myself, pressing small kisses down across his shoulder and neck to keep myself from doing anything until he's at least a little more conscious. Waiting is hard, no pun intended, but it's a courtesy that I always give if I can manage it, and I expect other people to do the same for me. It's just not fun to get rushed through your afterglow because of an impatient partner.

He shifts after a little bit, turning his head on my shoulder, and his mouth presses against the side of my neck like he's mimicking what I'm doing. The hands on my neck and hip squeeze, briefly, and he makes a deeply satisfied noise as he presses forward against me a little bit more intentionally.

"You good?" I ask, resting my hands on either side of his waist.

He nods, makes another satisfied noise, and then answers, " _So_  far past good."

He takes in a deep breath, hands massaging into my skin, and raises his head enough to graze his teeth up the side of my throat and then tug, lightly, at the lobe of my ear. I swallow, pushing forward against his thigh and fighting back a shudder, though some kind of sound does get past my lips. Whatever it is, it makes him tug again and then let go, taking his teeth to the shell, gently but  _damn_  does it feel good.

"Got something specific in mind?" he murmurs right into my ear, and I can't help the twitch or the jerk of my hips at the feeling.

There are  _so_ many ways I could do this. I'm not going to fuck Barry, not this time. It's too much work for when I'm this worked up — plus, I've got half of this fantasy in my head about working him open and getting him to come just from that long before I slide inside, to give him the best first experience I can — and none of the supplies I'd need are in here with me. Sure, I can send Barry running for them, but that seems mean.

I can get the next best thing though.

I shift my head in a nod, and spare just a few seconds to figure out exactly how I'm going to make this work. "Yeah," is my verbal answer to his question. I reluctantly pull back a little bit, and take half a step backwards to give him a little bit of room to maneuver. He looks curious, but it plays background to that lazy heat in his eyes. "Brace against that wall," I order, flicking my left hand towards the back wall of the shower.

I don't want him with his face in the spray, and I need a little bit more room than there is horizontally in this tiny shower. The shower's spray will still hit the lower half of my back, even pressed up against him, but that might just be nice. I'm honestly not nearly as experienced with shower sex as I am with other kinds. My shower's pretty small, and most people I've slept with aren't interested in a morning after round that's anything but quick and dirty, if they're interested at all. If they even stayed the night, or I did.

 _Now_ he looks interested, but he doesn't question, just flashes me a grin and does what I've told him to. He steps sideways, turning his back to me and leaning into the wall, bracing both arms against it, elbow to hand. His legs are spread a little bit, and he's looking over his shoulder at me, eyes half-lidded and satisfied. It's a  _really_  good look for him.

I swallow thickly, almost unconsciously stepping forward the half of a step to press up against his back. The water pounds against my hips, droplets ricocheting up to paint random patterns across some of my skin, as I run my hands up his sides and press my face and my mouth in against his shoulder. He's warm and wet and I have almost  _never_ had a morning like this.

Thea had another life — I was more of a secret than an actual boyfriend — and the rest of my relationships or one night stands were never really the 'sweet' kind. This isn't anything like the rest of them, but I guess that's just because of who Barry is.

I don't think he's capable of treating someone he likes, someone he's chosen to share himself with, anything but kindly. Even if I am just a means to an end, mixed with a good time. Whenever he figures this out he's just going to go back to whatever girlfriend he's apparently got in Central. She'll never know, and if he's lucky no one else will either.

I guess people will go to some pretty extreme lengths to not lose the people they want to be with. Even, technically, cheating on them.

Not like this is a real normal situation. What other choice has he got?

His head lowers a bit, eyes slipping closed as he makes a noise, deep in his chest, that's lazy desire. It's enough to make me shut my own eyes for a moment, securing my teeth against the back of his shoulder to keep my mouth busy so I don't say something really supremely stupid. I slide my hands back down his sides, lingering on his hips for a second — he's built bonier than I am, beneath the layer of muscle — before lowering them to the outside of his thighs. I don't shove, but I press inwards firmly enough to convey the message without having to tell him what to do out loud.

He understands it, shifting his legs in together. I take a moment to press in against him, to feel the curve of his ass against me and linger with my mouth on his skin, before letting go to take in a deep breath, and pulling my hips back a bit to make space for my hand to slip in and wrap around myself. I shove that breath back out, and there's a large — really  _stupid_ — part of me that just wants to fuck Barry anyway, but it's the horny, ignorant, instinctive bit of me that's more used to women, and programmed that way.

I shift lower, guiding myself in between his thighs and pushing into the substitute of actually being inside him, and I can feel him take in a sharp and slightly startled breath. Right. Barry, virgin with guys.

The water is enough to make the slide mostly smooth, even though it'd never do as actual lubricant, and I can feel myself slide against the sensitive skin behind his balls; I'm just long enough to brush against the base of him when I'm all the way through. It's not the same, but it's still damn good and, in some ways, it feels a  _whole_  lot more close than just normal fucking. That can be rough, or quick, and distanced, but this? This is a lot harder to do without a connection, even if it's just the sorta-friends with a deal that Barry and I are — maybe — becoming.

He shifts, and I flick my eyes open to watch his head raise, neck arch a little bit, as he pushes back against me. " _That's_ interesting," he breathes out, as I bring my hand back to his thigh and watch the curve of his neck. "I was kinda expecting something else," he admits, with half of a grin, "but this is good."

I snort, pressing my mouth against his neck for a moment that turns into a quite a few moments, and a new mark in his skin. "Whatever porn you've seen is  _wrong_ ," I manage to say, and then my fingers clench down hard on his thighs when he shifts his weight and the muscles of his legs flex and tighten. " _Fuck!_ "

Since Barry's insanely smart but kind of an arrogant, teasing, ass sometimes — I knew that seeing him as the Flash; didn't need last night to confirm it — he does it again, purposefully this time.

I choke out a sharp noise, and resist shoving him flat against the wall only by bucking my hips into him, grinding against the back of his thighs. From there it's a total lost cause. Instinct takes over, and I can't do much more than try and keep my grip on his thighs loose enough it won't bruise as I fuck into the hot pressure of the space between his thighs. What little of my brain is left is gratified by the fact that Barry at least seems to be enjoying himself, if his shifting and his noises are anything to go by.

It feels  _amazing_ , and I only regret that with our height differences, kissing him from this angle is pretty much impossible, or at least would be seriously uncomfortable for both of us. I make do with taking advantage of his fast healing; leaving hickeys up and down this side of him, along his shoulder and neck. It keeps my mouth busy, and stops me from cursing right in his ear. Plus, his skin tastes good, and feels good in my mouth and against my tongue.

Barry shudders, and I groan into his skin at the same time he makes a gasping,  _intense_ noise that shoots straight down my spine to — currently — more important parts of me.

" _God_ ," he says, sounding strained and almost like he's in pain. "That  _feels_ — God,  _Roy_."

I swallow down the words on my tongue — Barry gets flustered with any kind of really sexual talk in the middle of things; or starts laughing — and thrust against him a little harder, a little faster, to satisfy the rising tide of want and  _need_  low in my stomach. His hands are clenched into fists, pressing against the wall, and his neck arches back in a long curve that I can't help chasing with my mouth. I can't see down between the length of his body and the wall of the shower to know if he's hard again, or if he's just enjoying the feeling, but I'm not quite willing to let go of my grip on his thighs to reach forward and find out.

Not when I'm driving steadily closer to the edge, and Barry seems to be doing fine just like this.

I watch the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows, and his thighs flex what I think is unconsciously but I could not give less of a damn right now. Not with the squeeze and pressure around me, and the building wave and crest of pleasure and it feels so  _damn_  good. And then I'm done.

I shove my face against his shoulder, muffling my cry into his skin as I jerk and press forward hard enough to shove him up against the wall, keeping just enough of my mind to not tighten my grip on his thighs any further. I feel more than hear him gasp, his back arching underneath the press of my weight and shifting his skin against mine in a wet slide that only makes this more intense and just  _better_ , like the backwards grind of his hips into mine.

Coming back down weakens my knees, shortens my breath, and I have to brace and lean against him to avoid slipping down to the floor, and to avoid locking my knees back. I pant against his back, my arms letting go of his thighs and looping around his waist to try and hold myself up. I'm probably a little heavy to be leaning against him like this, and I will move as soon as I'm sure I can, but until then I'll just shoo away that little spark of guilt and let myself recover. Staying standing makes it harder, and so does the thick, wet, warm heaviness to the air.

A tiny vibration buzzes through Barry, followed by a harder quiver, and I can hear and feel him breathing nearly as hard as me. I manage to get out, "You alright?" before I have to surrender to the need to focus on forcing myself to breathe again. Though I do drag my head up and off his shoulder so I can look up along the line of his throat and up to his jaw. Clenched tight, and his eyes are closed too. If I wasn't pressing him up against the wall, I think his head might be hanging.

He nods, carefully, and I watch his hands uncurl and flex, jaw loosening as he drags in a forcefully deep breath and lets his mouth part. "Yeah; new feeling. I can wait."

My mouth curves in a grin that's mostly endorphins, and I pull together enough of my brain to loosen my right arm around his waist and reach down. He's hard, hot, and gives a keening noise as I wrap my fingers around him, pushing forward into my hand and arching his head back. I can feel the traces of slick, clinging, wetness that's the remnants of me coming, mostly at the root of him. It feels like most of it ended up on the wall, but there's a fair bit that splashed up onto him too.

"Liked that, huh?" I ask, pretty much rhetorically, letting my fingers let go and explore lower, down beneath him and onto the sensitive stretch of skin I was rubbing against.

He only answers with a hitched breath and a sharp moment of vibration, but I really wasn't expecting an answer. I test my legs, find them stable enough to stand on, and then shift my weight back to bring it off of him and back onto my own feet. I don't pull back though, and I sure as  _hell_ don't stop the exploration of my fingers in parts I really didn't get to last night. It's just enough to not crush him anymore, so he's got a little room to move if he needs or wants to.

My arm's long enough, and he's thin enough, that I can reach all the way back to the tight ring of muscle that, next time, I'm going to take my time with and work open. I let my eyes close for a second, just enjoying the thought of making Barry sweat, and writhe, and seeing if I can make him come just from that. Some guys can, some can't. I want to know which he is.

For now, I settle for running my fingertips around the sensitive edges of it, feeling him clench and shudder. The noise that drags itself from his throat is something wanting, and lustful, and if I hadn't just come it would be a hell of an aphrodisiac. But I'm not Barry, and I'm not getting hard again for awhile yet. Doesn't mean I can't enjoy his sounds, even if my body is insisting that it would like a rest; thank you very much. I think I might actually be able to make that happen.

"Keep your eyes closed for a second?" I ask, and wait for his shallow jerk of a nod before withdrawing my wandering hand and raising it to grip his upper arm. I glance back, briefly, to make sure I have the angle right, before pulling him back the two short steps across the length of the shower. It pulls him back under the spray, and I press my back against the wall — my head tilted to one side to avoid the metal of the showerhead — and carefully slide down it, guiding him with me.

It's really the only place to get fully out of the spray of the shower; right beneath the shower head.

I sit down, stretching my legs out, and pull him back between them, before casually using a bit of my grappling knowledge to wind my legs in under and around his to keep them spread wide and open. His eyes are still closed, but if the way his head arches back and his right hand rises to graze along my neck and back into my hair is any indication, he's got no problem with this. So, I lean into his fingers as they curl through my hair — the other hand is finding a place along the outside of my thigh — and lower both my hands down between his legs. He's slumped down just enough that I can rest my chin on his shoulder, and watch past the defined muscle of his torso to how the fingers of my left hand curl around him, and the others slip lower.

I don't have lube here, and I'm  _not_ even going to go into the territory of fingering without lube, but it's sensitive skin down there anyway. I don't need to jump to fucking him with my fingers when there's all that area down there to just experiment and play with.

Rushing doesn't do anything but cause pain, and I'll be  _damned_ if — when I first fuck Barry — I leave him with absolutely any thoughts besides wanting more.

He makes a strained noise through his teeth, trying to buck up into my hands, but the pin of my legs around his keeps him mostly held down. Mostly it's his back that arches, and the flex of muscle in his arms and thighs as he, respectively, tightens his grip, and pulls against the wrap of my legs. I hook my chin a little more securely over his shoulder, and firm up my hold on him a little bit before starting to stroke, my hand sliding smoothly thanks to the water and the last, leftover bits of my release that weren't washed away from his skin by the brief trip through the water.

His head is arched back far enough, nearly against my shoulder, that his gasps and the  _noises_ he's making are almost directly into my ear. Even though I'm not going to be getting hard, the arousal it sparks is still a low burn in my stomach, and it builds a lump in my throat that I have to swallow down. This should be the last time, to give at least  _me_ time to actually shower before he has to run back to Central. He recovers fast, but he'll probably still want some time to get some energy back before he has to go.

Better make it good.

I stroke with my one hand, and let my other play with the rest of his more sensitive bits, and even though he isn't verbal about it — or maybe not capable of words — he's definitely enjoying himself. All I need are the noises, and his instinctive attempts to buck up into me, and the periodic shudders of vibration that sweep through him and set my skin tingling, to tell me that he's riding high on pleasure. His inability to keep still, and the grip of his hand in my hair and against my thigh, are just obvious confirmations that I'm doing a good job.

I will totally admit that it's pretty intoxicating to watch and feel Barry this wound up, just from what I've done to him. I got a lot of it last night, but it hasn't stopped being new yet, and it  _really_ hasn't stopped being one hell of an experience. Everything from the noise, to the feel, to the sight, to just the plain old knowledge that this is someone who can move faster than pretty much every machine on the planet, and I've got him tuned to my touch like some kind of instrument. If power was my thing, I'd be in heaven with a trip like this. Since it's not, it's just giving me this lingering, faint sense of awe, behind the pride and the desire.

Because holy  _shit_ , Barry might be the most dangerous person I know — if I thought he could maliciously hurt a  _fly_ — and here he is wrapped around my fingers. Or, at least, letting me wrap my fingers around  _him_.

That's a hell of a lot of power in my hands. Literally  _and_  figuratively.

I let my eyes slide closed for a second, tilting my head sideways to take in a shallow breath at the side of Barry's throat. All I get is the scent of the water, his sweat, sex, and the faint trace of the unique scent of human skin underneath it all. Whatever he smelled like last night, from whatever product he last used before any of this — I really don't remember if I noted smelling anything — it's totally gone now. At least, it's overpowered. So I open my eyes again, aiming my gaze back down to watch him.

I can tell — last night's experience coming into play — that he's not far off from coming, and I speed up a little bit to push him him closer, making sure to keep the same strength in my grip and not lose any of it to the quicker pace. I get a few strangled noises in reward, and an arch to his back that's as tight as a drawn bowstring. I dip my other hand lower, pressing inwards just a bit at the ring of muscle with a single finger. Not nearly enough to actually push in, but enough to activate nerves and make him  _think_ about it.

Barry makes a noise that sounds like a plea, hand pulling hard in my hair and his nails digging into my thigh, legs tensing and jerking at my hold. I let him drag my head harder in against him, closer to his neck, and his breath is hot and hard against my ear, uneven, as he blurs into his speed. Just for a few seconds, and then he's back and crying out, tensing and going still in that tight arch. The sound bounces off the walls of the shower, almost drowning out the water, and I can feel the throb of him in my hand, see his release as it arcs into the air and splashes up against his stomach.

He eases back and goes all but limp against me, head still tilted back but not arched. Exhausted, not wound and ready to snap.

I slowly let go of him, withdrawing my hands to slide along his thighs — I get a sharp twitch for that — and then up his sides. He's breathing hard, fast, and I can feel his heart pounding away faster than I'd think was safe if he didn't have the powers he does. Faster than any human could probably survive without some kind of damage.

It freaked me out a little bit the first time I was pressed close enough to feel it, but he seemed alright when I checked, and he doesn't seem concerned by it, so I guess I shouldn't be either.

I carefully disentangle my legs from his, feeling the slight twinge of muscles — mostly in my thighs — that have been worked hard. It was a long night, and even though I didn't spend most of it actually fucking him, which would have taken a whole lot more energy, that was still a lot of gripping, and clenching, and straining. Yes, I'm a little sore. Satisfied though, and  _so_ alright with a minor pain like this in exchange for the night I got out of it.

"Hate to disturb you," I say, just loud enough to be heard over the water, "but my apartment's not great, and the hot water isn't going to last that much longer."

He makes a sound that I'm pretty sure is amused, but not strong enough to be a laugh or even a snort, and shifts in what I think is a nod. "Go ahead," he says, sounding completely wiped out, "I'll be up in a minute."

I run my hands down his sides again, as his hands let go of my hair and my thigh, and ask, "Are you alright?" Barry's always snapped back pretty much within the minute, and I don't remember him sounding or looking this exhausted at any point last night, not even near the end. It worries me, just a little.

He shifts in another nod, and his mouth curves in a small, lopsided smile. "Lot of energy; not much food. Just give me a minute."

Oh,  _fuck_. I hadn't even thought of that. Of course Barry wouldn't be able to just weather the night through like I can, he  _needs_ more food than that to get by even without the huge workout I put him through. I can only  _imagine_ the kind of energy his body burned through in comparison to mine, and  _I'm_ pretty hungry.

"Shit; sorry. I can make you something, or grab something. Right now?"

He chuckles, half-turning his head to press it into the side of my neck, his hand finding its way down to my arm, stroking along my skin. "Relax, Roy, I'll be fine. Just gotta eat before I do any more running. Go, get up and do your thing. Both of us showering in here at the same time isn't gonna work anyway."

He's got a point there. Sure, it worked for both of us when we were pressed against each other and pretty much merged every way but literally, but for two adult males with decent muscle, actually trying to do separate activities and get clean at the same time? Not gonna work. We'd be better off just elbowing each other in the face to start with, instead of doing it accidently later on, which  _would_ happen at least once.

I guess I'll let him recover while I wash off, and then see if he needs any support for his part of things, or if I'm clear to run off to my excuse for a kitchen and cook the fastest meal I can find, to tide him over until I can get something actually cooking that's larger and more filling.

God, I feel like such an  _ass_ for not recognizing this was gonna happen. I mean, obviously he thought about it, or he wouldn't be so passive and accepting of the whole temporarily incapacitated thing. Then again, obviously he didn't expect me to think about it, or know what I was doing. I guess I  _don't_ know pretty much anything about his powers, and I don't really know the limitations and extra side effects they come with either. I knew he had to eat more, higher metabolism and all, but I didn't connect that back to actual dangerous exhaustion if he didn't.

"You sure?" He nods, and I bite back a sigh. "Alright, then shift up and let me out from under you." He does, slowly and with a bit of help from me, and I get to my feet and shift away from standing over him before leaning him back against the wall again.

I keep an eye on him as I do my shower routine, though after about a minute and a half his eyes open and he watches me back. He looks tired, but at least it's not that total exhaustion, and he's making an effort to be aware again. By the time I'm done he actually almost looks bright and alive again, and he shifts to his feet pretty smoothly as I slip to the side to give him space.

"Want me to stay?" I ask, still a little worried even if he seems to be past the threat of passing out for the moment.

His grin is half amused and half disbelieving, and he shakes his head as he reaches past me for my shampoo — in a basket hanging on the glass door. "I'm fine, promise. There's no room in here for both of us; go."

So I do.

Eggs is the fastest thing I can think of that I actually have all the ingredients for — and it's even vaguely breakfast related, point for me — and the knowledge to make, so that's what happens first. I tug on a pair of boxers I forage from my dresser that are actually clean, and head out to the kitchen corner to make it. By the time Barry gets out — must have all been a normal speed, because it feels slow to me — I've got a decent pile of eggs on a plate next to the pan I'm cooking in, and a smaller plate with a  _much_ smaller pile on it that I've claimed for myself.

Barry's arms are warm when they slide around my waist and he presses up against my back. "You can cook?" he asks quietly, and I give half a shrug.

"Sort of. Most simple things I either know, or can figure out. Eggs aren't hard. Bigger plate's yours, go ahead."

Barry's arms slide back, lingering briefly on my hips before letting go, and he snags his plate out from half underneath one of my arms. I can't hear him on the carpet, but I assume he's heading for the couch and the coffee table, which is the only real place to set a plate down that I've got.

Which is why I startle and almost drop the spatula in my hand when he touches my waist again, ignoring my reaction to press back up against me and rest his head against my shoulder, lips idle against the side of my neck. I swallow, the surprise dying down as I get a better grip on the tool and shove the eggs to one side, stirring them. I really only know how to make scrambled, so that's what he's getting.

"Go eat," I order, rolling my shoulder to dislodge his head, and I can feel his mouth curve in a grin as he totally disregards my attempt to get him to move.

"You don't have to cook me food," he points out. "I was just going to grab something on the way to work."

I snort, mostly at Barry's continued complete lack of care that he's stealing other peoples' food. "I did this to you," I counter sharply, "so I'll fix it. I should have known to start with; pushing that far was dumb." I flick the knob sideways to kill the flames, and shove the eggs one more time before setting the spatula down. "I've got other things, but this was fastest. Get off me so I can reach the fridge."

His grip loosens, and I start to head away from him, before one of his hands wraps around my wrist and tugs me back. I look back to figure out what he wants, and then his mouth is on mine, and both of his hands are coming up to cradle my skull and thread through my hair, holding me up against him. I shouldn't, I've got more to put together, but the press of his lips is soft and warm, and against my better judgement I let myself lean up into it. He makes a noise of approval, and satisfaction; something quiet and gentle, and lets the kiss linger.

"Thank you," he murmurs, against my lips, when he pulls back just a little bit. "Not for the food, but for agreeing to this. Weird thing to ask, and I really  _am_  thankful you agreed." He pauses, and then gives a soft laugh and says, "But the food is awesome too, and you really  _don't_  have to do that but I'll eat whatever you want to make."

I breathe out, not making any effort to pull away from his touch. "You're  _still_ acting like saying yes to repeated sex with you is some big inconvenience. It's really not; promise." I snort again, and shake my head just a little bit. "But maybe next time we plan this better? Oliver will have my hide if you start interrupting my patrols regularly."

He grins, bright and happy and just about as open as a book. Barry really  _doesn't_  have a filter on his feelings, does he? "I'll figure something out, or call and see if you're busy. It's not that far."

"It's half a country," I point out, flatly, and his grin gets just a little bigger. "Go, eat."

I start to pull away, and his hands tighten as he pulls me back for another, shorter, kiss. "Eat with me?" he asks, and I roll my eyes and sigh.

"Alright, fine."

He's puppy-dog cheerful, and it is  _really_  hard to be mad or even unhappy with Barry when he looks like that, so I give it up. I guess the alarm is still set for when he has to leave to make work — including the time difference — so I can check it once this first round of food is eaten, and see if I've got time to make more.

Maybe I should look into getting high-energy bars.


End file.
